


Smells Like Teen Spirit

by Canttouchthis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90s AU, Alternate Universe, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Fluff, Grunge, Minor Character Death, Music, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Teen Angst, so much teen angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis
Summary: In a world without Voldemort, where Muggle culture permeates the Magical, the awesomeness that is the 90s dominates life at Hogwarts.This is a story about teen angst, finding love where you least expect it, and the power of music to cure all ills.Welcome to the magical 90s AU you never knew you needed until now…Embarking on their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, bookworm Hermione Granger and guitar-toting Draco Malfoy find themselves on the precipice. Tragedy haunts Hermione, while the Malfoy legacy looms over Draco.It’s a mess of combat boots, grunge, baggy jeans, video games and concert tees. But most of all, it’s about the music, and the magic of hearing the right song when you need it most.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 137
Kudos: 67





	1. The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I do not own Harry Potter or any of the (many) things/music that I reference throughout.
> 
> **Important** : I typically have a "you do you, boo" attitude towards what you do/don't listen to when reading fanfic. **However** , music is a huge part of this story - Draco/Hermione are often listening to music throughout the story and many songs/albums are referenced. I have put together a Spotify playlist for each chapter that takes you through the songs referenced/sometimes has an added song throughout. I _think_ the playlists help enhance the overall reading experience - but music is a very personal thing so - you do you. [Click here for the Chapter 1 playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2GqcCiwPt7w0XKQA8L50P2?si=LMiexSu3TLqWL4gERThU3Q), or if you don't like Spotify, I'll be posting the playlists on my Tumblr [@canttouchthis87](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/canttouchthis87)
> 
> **Finally...** this story would have been impossible without the help and support of a few people. **First** , a big thank you to [Melanoradrood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood) for being on the receiving end of my 'so - what do we think about a grunge AU?' message and helping me find a way to turn this from a plot bunny while listening to the Smashing Pumpkins into an actual story.
> 
> **Thank you** to [Art3misia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for the hours and hours spent researching the 90s with me and all of your help. You have been an amazing Alpha/cheerleader and I couldn't have finished this without you. Thank you also to my Beta on this, [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for helping to find my typos/make this readable.
> 
> A last thank you to my ex-husband who will never read this but whose music acumen/snobbery were a massive help throughout.
> 
> **A new chapter will be posted every Friday until it's complete.**

_ September 2, 1997 _

Hermione felt numb to the scene before her - the bustle aboard the Hogwarts Express playing out like a scene from  _ Clueless _ . She rolled her eyes at the squealing second year girls and the rowdy laughter coming from a nearby compartment of sixth year boys, playing on their Gameboys. 

At one point such a sight would have filled her with warmth - she imagined a younger version of herself smiling at the antics. But all she could see now was naivety; the immaturity of children completely oblivious to the world around them.

She tucked her knees into her chest, placing her headphones over her ears and blasting Crowded House, allowing the cacophony surrounding her to fade away.

She had been looking forward to returning to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year just yesterday - holding on to the notion that the familiar routine would bring her out of her reverie. She had envisioned herself racing through the train searching for Harry, giggling with Lavender and Parvati about whatever incessant boy band they were obsessing over and spending hours on end in the library.

She had assumed the familiarity of the places and people would be enough - that outside of the home where her mother died, she would be able to return to a different version of herself. But the scene of parents bidding their children goodbye on the platform made her stomach twist.

“Crowded House? Really?” She jumped at the intrusion, narrowing her eyes at Draco Malfoy who was smirking from the seat across from her.

She glared at him, pointedly turning the volume on her CD player up to block him out. He raised a single eyebrow but proceeded to pull out a dilapidated notebook and ignore her.

Hermione watched him carefully use a ballpoint pen, his face scrunched in concentration over whatever he was doing. His nails were painted black, though the enamel was cracking. He wore faded jeans and a Pearl Jam concert tee with an oversized leather jacket hanging over the ensemble. He’d grown his unnaturally blonde hair out - the tresses streaked with black dye reaching his chin. 

She had known Draco Malfoy since First Year - but they had never actually communicated with one another outside of class assignments or when Harry would insist on talking to the blonde when she was around. He was typically amongst a gaggle of Slytherins, all listening to grunge or punk and otherwise looking down on the other houses with a false air of superiority. It had always struck her as odd - the idea that a house defined by its rejection of Muggles was filled with students emulating Muggle culture. 

Harry tried to explain it to her once - that it was a sort of silent rebellion against the establishment. When she then asked Harry if that was why he exclusively wore baggy JNCO jeans, he gave her a sheepish grin and changed the subject.

If she had cared, she might have questioned why Malfoy felt the need to invade her space on the train. Instead, she simply snorted at the thought of Draco Malfoy and his emo getup, sitting cross legged on a black comforter, delicately painting his nails with a bottle of Wet n’ Wild polish, blasting "Everybody Hurts” by REM. 

He looked up at the noise, his mouth moving - but Hermione couldn’t hear him over the sound of “Don’t Dream It’s Over”. She pointed at her ears and shifted her gaze out the window, pushing the nascent thoughts of Draco Malfoy out of her mind.

As the landscapes flew past in a blur of green and blue hues against the overcast sky, she tried desperately to be positive - to consider the year ahead of her as the adventure it should be. But her thoughts betrayed her, returning her to that hospital bed where she said good-bye to her brain-dead mother and faced the fact that she would never see the woman who raised her again.

_ ‘Mum’, _ she thought as she did when she grew overly melancholy, ‘ _ well, I took the first step. I got on the train.’ _

Her music abruptly stopped, and she narrowed her eyes at the sight of Malfoy holding her CD player, detached from her headphones.

“What do you want?” she asked, purposefully allowing the vitriol to escape her throat.

He didn’t seem bothered. “Nice hair cut.” 

Her hands flew to her hair, fingers pushing through the short bob. She met his gaze, somewhat taken aback by the warmth in his grey eyes, the soft smile playing on his lips. 

“Thanks,” she responded somewhat warily. They weren’t friends - they were hardly acquaintances. He and Harry were ‘cousins’ of sorts and Hermione put up with the blonde solely to maintain the peace.

He looked thoughtfully at her CD player, still in his hand, before digging through his own folio and replacing her Crowded House CD with one of his own.

“What?” she scoffed as he handed back her belongings. She was about to open the Walkman to check the album when he placed his hand atop the player.

“Just - trust me.” He removed his pale hand slowly and returned his focus to the notebook and his scribbles.

She didn’t trust him, had no reason to. But she plugged her headphones back in anyways, pressing play and letting the soft notes of “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness” wash over her as her gaze once again turned to the window, the Scottish highlands beginning to take form as the sun slowly worked its way to the horizon.

* * *

_ September 9, 1997 _

Hermione moved the mashed potatoes and gravy around her plate, her eyes focused on her meal while her classmates continued to posture around her. Harry kept dropping meaningful looks her way, his boyish smile taunting her with its sincerity. Beside him, Ron Weasley kept sneaking glances in her direction, as though his long time crush on her weren’t the worst kept secret in Hogwarts. She did her best to avoid rolling her eyes at the pair.

They were talking about Quidditch - or maybe it was football. Neither resonated with her, and she pulled out her familiar Walkman, playing the Smashing Pumpkins album Malfoy had placed within it a week before.

“Hermione!” She frowned, reluctantly removing her headphones and sending a disinterested look Harry’s way.

She and Harry had been virtually inseparable since meeting on the train First Year. She had been a wide-eyed Muggleborn with no idea how anything in the Wizarding world worked and Harry, finding her ignorance and fascination with the Magical world amusing, had taken her under his wing. She always assumed his mother was likely responsible, either through a direct order of ‘befriend the Muggleborns’ or perhaps by virtue of her own tales of feeling alone and out of sorts at Hogwarts.

“What?” she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone. Truly, she wasn’t annoyed at him - she just found his continued efforts to ‘cheer her up’ or ‘include’ her grating. 

“Just seeing if you’re still taking Arithmancy this year,” Harry responded with a slight frown. 

She shut her eyes, chastising herself for taking her despondency out on him. “Of course,” she confirmed, trying her best to sound engaged.

Harry continued to eye her skeptically, obviously not fooled in the slightest. She wondered why he would have brought it up - Harry wasn’t in Arithmancy after all - they only shared Charms, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts at this point.

“You’ll probably have the same time table as Malfoy,” he told her evenly.

She frowned. “Really?” If she were being fair, she would acknowledge that Malfoy tended to be in her elective classes and did have a habit of answering questions correctly. For some reason though, perhaps based on how he dressed or the fact he constantly had a guitar slung over his back, she had always considered him something of a slacker.

“Yeah - I was going to ask you to keep an eye on him,” Harry told her, his tone calculating. “Just - let me know if he seems off.”

She tried to run through everything she knew about Draco Malfoy, which was, admittedly, not much. “Why?” she asked finally, giving up on drawing any conclusions on her own.

Harry clamped up. “I just worry about him.” He shrugged it off. Perhaps a year ago, Hermione would have pushed him, curiosity getting the better of her. As it was, she was happy when her best friend turned to Ron Weasley and resumed talking about some inane sport or other.

Hermione sank into her seat, cracking her neck and replacing her headphones, letting the dulcet tones of “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” wash over her. She let her gaze float over the hall, landing momentarily on Dean and Seamus on the other end of the Gryffindor table, not so subtly selling a gram of weed to a fourth year. Nearby, Lavender and Parvati had their faces glued to a copy of _Bliss_ _Magazin_ e, whispering into their wands and making the ads hover around them, much to their neighbors’ annoyance. 

It wasn’t rational, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel resentful of the laughing students. She was like the titular character  _ Daria _ ; observing the world around her but unwilling to engage. Though when her eyes landed on the Hufflepuff table and she saw Justin Finch-Fletchley holding court, likely regaling the Puffs with some outlandish story, she couldn’t help but laugh. The boy wore a wife beater and baggy pants, his hair a greasy disheveled mess with a joint tucked behind his ear. She watched with continued amusement as Professor McGonagall confiscated the contraband and chastised him.

Her eyes inevitably landed on the Slytherin table and the sea of blacks and greys, accented by Theo Nott’s typically colorful hair - this time a green mohawk. She noticed Malfoy’s sticker covered guitar case lying underneath a bench, and a small boombox sitting in the middle of the table, too far away for her to identify the specific tune emanating from it.

She glanced down at her half-eaten meal, the now soggy potatoes and peas looking particularly unappetizing, and left, turning up the volume on her Walkman as she walked to her dormitory alone.

* * *

_September 25, 1997_

Draco strummed his Gibson acoustic guitar, his eyes shut and hair blowing softly in the slight breeze. He frowned, inching his left eye open as he adjusted his grip, trying to hit the chords just right. He found if he kept his head perfectly still, he could sit beside the Black Lake and focus on the steady rhythm of Alice in Chains’ “Man in the Box”, letting everything else flit away with the wind.

He felt Hermione Granger’s presence before he heard her, the distinctly rough exhale followed by a shuffling of feet. He imagined her huffing with her arms crossed, perhaps aggravated by his presence or expecting him to react to her immediately. 

He finished the song, smiling with satisfaction as he strummed the final note. He waited a moment, allowing his gaze to land on the Black Lake, curious to see if she would make herself known.

“Malfoy,” she stated uncomfortably. He could envision her shifting in his mind, perhaps struggling with whatever brought her out there in the first place. “I have your CD.”

She walked around and shoved the disc at him. He eyed it before shifting his gaze to her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

He started arbitrarily strumming his guitar, playing a series of power chords to keep his fingers occupied. Meanwhile, he watched Granger seriously frown at the CD, as though willing it to divulge all its secrets.

Since finding Hermione Granger sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express earlier that month, looking completely despondent, Draco found himself utterly fascinated by the witch. He had grown used to her constant hand raising and the twitch of her lip when the Professors inevitably awarded Gryffindor points for whatever brilliant feat of magic she pulled off. To see  _ this _ Granger - her formerly wild tresses forced short and flat, refusing to utter a word in class - was something he found he couldn’t simply ignore.

It had been three weeks since he had sat across from her on the train, lost in his own predicament, only to be caught off guard by the grating sound of 80s music. He had given her  _ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness _ out of a sense of obligation - she obviously knew nothing of good music and it was his duty to educate her.

Though in the intervening time, watching her clutch her red Walkman covered in duct tape for dear life, he felt the album possibly more poignant than he realized. When he got around to asking Potter about his best friend, his cousin sent him a panicked look before relenting - explaining the girl’s mother had died suddenly that summer.

He had felt his own stomach drop at the words - finding himself suddenly empathetic to the Gryffindor girl he had previously felt nothing but - well, nothing for. His own mother had passed 10 years earlier, from a particularly lethal blood curse, leaving Draco alone with an overbearing father.

“It’s yours.” She tried to press the CD to him once more, a determined look covering her face.

He didn’t move his hands, instead continuing to play the same power chords again and again. “What was your favorite track?” He swayed slightly left to right, humming a melody to the tune.  _ This isn’t your everyday _ he considered the lyrics in his mind, pausing to write the words down in his notebook before he forgot.

When he returned his focus to Granger, she had furrowed brows, her eyes locked on his notebook. “What is that?” she asked.

“I asked you a question first,” he quipped, wordlessly vanishing the pen to his black canvas backpack and returning his attention to the guitar.

They remained in relative silence, only the strumming of his guitar and the nearly audible annoyance rolling off of Granger disturbing the rather pristine fall day. It was finally cool enough to wear the vintage leather jacket gifted to him by his Uncle Sirius that summer - well, cool enough to wear without sweating profusely, that is. 

“I guess “1979”,” she shrugged, continuing to wave the disc in his face, willing him to take it.

“Really? “1979”? But it’s so - upbeat,” he replied, his fingers freezing against the strings for a moment before resuming.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Ignoring whatever insinuation you’re making, it may have a - poppy - melody, but the song itself is much more than that.” He watched her intently, waiting for her to elaborate, but she simply stood there obstinate.

“And?” he queried, trying to think of the specific lyrics of “1979”.

“It’s about growing up. The push and pull of adolescence and adulthood,” she explained succinctly.

Draco put his guitar gently atop its case and cast a quick  _ Engorgio _ against the shrunken boombox he always had on his person. He finally accepted the CD from Granger, finding the song in question and gesturing for her to sit.

He wished he had a Polaroid to capture the image of Granger as she debated whether to comply, the way she bit at the inside of her cheek so obviously before a look of raw determination came over her. Finally, she sat a solid meter from him, sliding her legs to the side in her denim skirt. 

Her dark brown eyes refused to meet his, instead focused on the boombox. Draco found “1979” and carefully listened to the lyrics, seriously considering Granger’s proposal. When the song finally ended, he forced the CD to start from the beginning and the album’s titular instrumental song played softly in the background.

“It’s just nostalgia, right?” Draco pointed out.

She shook her head, and he saw a glint of something familiar in her eye. It was a look he would typically associate with the witch getting a particularly tricky answer right in class, or when she finished a Potions assignment before him. He reflexively prepared himself to be bested.

“It’s a longing for a simpler time - to when there were no worries. It’s less about pure nostalgia and more the juxtaposition of youth and adulthood. That moment you’re on the precipice,” she explained, a slight smile betraying her enjoyment of the discussion.

“Is that how you feel?” he asked, unable to help himself. Her mouth dropped into a frown almost instantly, but he only felt moderately bad for asking. “You think because of your mum you’ve been forced to suddenly grow up?”

He was fairly certain if she had a better grasp of wandless magic she would have caused him physical harm at that point. But still, he felt the need to push, having watched the once vibrant girl become a shell of herself since the start of term.

“I don’t mean offense, Granger,” he placed his hands up in surrender, “Potter told me. I’m sorry by the way - though I’m sure my platitudes are meaningless.” She softened slightly, the anger in her eyes deflating and the blood beginning to drain from her cheeks.

He wondered if anyone bothered to challenge her - to even mention her mum to her - or if the thought of a parent dying was simply too taboo. As he looked at her, with her eyes beginning to water and her hand tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she seemed vulnerable in a way he was unfamiliar with. 

She shook herself out of it, returning to the matter at hand. “We’re all on the precipice, aren’t we?” she suggested almost ethereally, still frowning. “What’s your favorite song?” she pointed to the boombox where the album was still playing. 

He struggled for a moment before playing “Tonight, Tonight”. “This,” he told her, smiling lightly at the familiar melody.

“Really?” Fleetingly, she looked surprised, before a calculating expression marked her features.

“Really,” he confirmed, “it’s about focusing on the present, about what we have right now. I guess it’s about change like “1979” but it’s about not focusing on that.”

“And is that what you do, Malfoy? With your notebook and your black nail polish?” Her eyes drifted back to the notebook, curiosity clear in her gaze.

He knew she was mocking him. Her nails were bare, her face devoid of makeup and her hair boasted its natural murky brown. She wore a long sleeved deep red crop top that stopped where it met her waist high denim skirt. Her shoes were practical grey Chuck Taylor high tops. Hermione Granger didn’t belong to a scene - no one could accuse her of being grunge or punk - she just was.

He took her words in stride, chuckling as he fingered the chipped polish along his nails. “It’s something I strive for.” He told her honestly.

They sat in an oddly amiable silence and Draco considered, as the CD skipped slightly at the final chorus, that this was the longest he and Granger had ever spoken. Even on the rare occasion they were forcibly partnered in class, such conversation was always limited to succinct questions and one word answers.

He was surprised she remained, though as he watched her stare intently at the boombox, a few stray tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, he thought he could understand. It was the same reason he would stay up late into the night organizing his albums, or playing Nirvana on repeat. Because sometimes music was what it took to get through the day.

“So.” She wiped her cheek and faced him. “Will you tell me about your notebook now?”

He clutched the aforementioned book, the cover plastered in Sharpie and bumper stickers. He eyed her carefully, another lyric suddenly hitting him at the sight of her quirked lip:  _ If you’re going down, I’ve fallen deep _ . 

“It’s my songs - or well, my attempts at songwriting,” he admitted, feeling an odd obligation to be vulnerable with the witch who had just exposed herself to him. He opened the notebook and quickly jotted down the lyric, unveiling pages of chicken scratch. 

She raised her eyebrows at him, a look of disbelief marking her features. “You want to be a  _ songwriter _ ?” 

He wasn’t sure if he should be offended or amused. Instead, he simply shrugged. “Music’s changed my life - made me who I am. If I could write a song - just one, that mattered, I think it would make me content.” He felt naked in a way, watching her process this. He wondered if a bookworm could understand such musings, if the girl who spent the last six years determined to be the best at absolutely everything could appreciate the desire to do just one thing perfectly.

“But - don’t you have certain - obligations? I was under the impression that all of the Purebloods are required to take on specific careers after Hogwarts.” She didn’t say it unkindly but the words stung regardless. He felt the last vestiges of a grin fall, a slight frown taking its place.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds. He offered her one, to which she scoffed, before wandlessly lighting his cigarette with the snap of his fingers.

The fight he had with his father before leaving for Hogwarts nearly a month earlier played in his head. His father’s demands that he stop with the ‘music nonsense’ and find himself a nice ‘Pureblood’ girl to settle down with.

Lucius Malfoy was the consummate businessman - down to his pristine three piece Muggle suits and brutal dedication to the bottom line. It had been made readily apparent to Draco his entire life that his sole purpose was to carry on the Malfoy legacy - to ensure all of their family’s business ventures remained liquid and, of course, the continuation of their untarnished Pureblood line.

Nowhere in this plan for Draco was there a time and place for music. It was made clear his continued obsession with his Gibson and insistence on streaking his hair and wearing clothes befitting a ‘hobo’ would no longer be tolerated.

Of course, for a teenager on the precipice of adulthood, Draco took this as a direct challenge to play his guitar  _ more _ , perhaps make his clothes more outrageous. He was currently considering getting a tattoo, something utterly permanent his father couldn’t spell away.

“Sure,” he finally responded to Granger, “I mean - there are certain obligations. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also play.”

It was a lie - but it was one he liked to tell himself. That after he graduated he would somehow find a way to make it all work - to fulfill his familial obligations and continue to make music. He hoped if he pushed enough, his father would relent. He believed the man had once enjoyed music - Draco had come across boxes of old  _ Led Zeppelin _ and  _ Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young _ records in the cellar, covered in dust but still able to play their classic tunes. But when he questioned the man, Lucius had simply admonished Draco for touching what was not his.

Draco could vaguely remember music from when he was younger, it was a fleeting memory that would help him fall asleep when the loss of his mother would keep him up at night. He would recall her playing the  _ Beatles _ on an antique record player, her melodic voice singing to him while his father beamed from the threshold of the bedroom. The problem was, as he aged, the memories grew faint and he found himself questioning if they were simply the creation of a sad boy who missed his mum.

“Are you any good?” Hermione asked, her eyes shifting from the notebook to his guitar.

“I’m decent,” he shrugged, vanishing the cigarette butt and picking up the Gibson, strumming “Stairway to Heaven” automatically. 

“I meant with the songwriting,” she clarified.

He paused, his fingers hesitating briefly. “I’m - I don’t know. I have moments where I think I’m onto something and then I lose it.”

“But you enjoy it?” she questioned, her gaze now focused on the grass where her fingers were picking at the blades.

“I - yes, I enjoy it,” he told her, biting at his lower lip and watching her delicate fingers become a light green. “I guess I’m sometimes not sure what to write about.”

“Well.” She sat up straighter, wiping her hands and scooting a few inches closer to him. “You write about what you know, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” He frowned. “But I mean - I’ve lived a fairly privileged life. Not much to write about.”

“Oh, come on Malfoy,” she teased him, all vulnerability from their last conversation vanished and a playful glint coloring her eye. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He gave her an indulgent smile, shaking his head. He had at one point tried to write about his frustration with his father, the expectations set upon him - but the words always came out in a metal tantrum. Only Pansy had enjoyed the resulting angst.

“I guess I want to write about something more than fights with my father,” he explained.

“Maybe I can help you,” she offered unexpectedly.

“Help me? How?” He continued thrumming the guitar, though his attention was solely on her.

“Well.” She looked down at her fingers briefly, as though gathering courage, before returning her gaze to him. “You were kind enough to lend me your CD when I needed it. Perhaps I can help you find something to write about.”

There was something in her words that moved him, and he could feel another lyric on the tip of his tongue:  _ When we’ve fallen it’ll be too soon _ . He rushed to jot the words down, before they slipped from his consciousness. 

“And what would that be?” he asked. A particularly strong gust of wind pushed against them, causing her short bob to whip across her face. He felt his neck warm at the sight of her hands aggressively trying to get the strands to comply, as though in spite of the short cut and whatever amount of product she used, the tresses still had a mind of their own. He felt he was watching Hermione Granger in a moment of her life that truly mattered - in that line between being a child and an adult. He didn’t want to look away.

He felt connected with this grieving girl, and felt reasonably certain he wasn’t alone as her cheeks reddened and she stood, brushing bits of dirt off her skirt.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she promised, magically changing the song on the boombox, letting “Farewell and Goodnight” blast as she walked away. She paused a few meters from the Black Lake, turning her head slightly and shouting, “And Crowded House is excellent.”

Draco chuckled to himself, shaking his head and returning to his guitar, strumming a tune from the recesses of his mind.


	2. Come as You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please **[click here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xNvnie48CTRH6eAvBO4KU?si=f9CKGyUrT0axjaQa2lmTKw)** for the Chapter 2 playlist in Spotify. It will also be posted on my Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/canttouchthis87).
> 
> As always, much appreciation to Art3misia and astrangefan for their Alpha/Beta help!

_ October 8, 1997 _

Hermione nervously trekked up to the rooftop adjacent to Gryffindor tower, a burgundy scarf wrapped around her neck to protect her from the early October chill. It was late - well past ten pm curfew but she had successfully made the sojourn without running into Filch or his treacherous cat.

“Hermione Granger,” Seamus Finnegan belted in his Irish brogue, his arms raised in a welcoming gesture, “well, shit.”

She couldn’t help but smile and walk with a little more confidence, reaching the notorious pair of Seamus and Dean. Off to the side she caught a couple of Ravenclaws - Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood specifically - eyeing her with trepidation. It was likely, Hermione mused, that they worried she would nark on them or perhaps berate them for their illicit behavior.

Perhaps in a different lifetime she would have. 

She was genuinely surprised to see Padma there - the girl was the studious sort - one of the few who voluntarily wore the school uniform, with the knee high socks, pleated skirt, white blouse and blue necktie. She typically held her shoulder length hair in a bow with a no-nonsense expression permanently etched on her face. She was currently attempting to discreetly sort through a small baggie of pills, occasionally holding one up to wand light.

Luna Lovegood, holding what appeared to be a homemade bowl to her lips, wasn’t a surprise at all to Hermione. The ethereal girl, known for her new age aesthetic and unwillingness to conform to anything whatsoever, was smiling indulgently at her fellow Ravenclaw, blowing a puff of smoke into the sky above her and watching the smoke rings flit away. Her blonde hair glimmered against the moonlight and for a moment Hermione was envious of the way the girl seemed to so easily simply be.

“Seamus,” Hermione refocused on the two Griffindors, suddenly nervous again as she remembered why she was there.

“What can we do for you today?” Seamus was grinning, his typical jovial demeanour amplified. 

After weeks of melancholy, broken up only by the occasional musical debate with Malfoy during their ad hoc meetings by the Black Lake, she decided to try something new. Her attempts at ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ were utterly failing so, after a couple of weeks to gather her courage, she finally made her way to one of the worst kept secrets at Hogwarts - the Gryffindor rooftop terrace - where one could find any drug or potion they desired.

Hermione had always been curious - though previously such curiosity was limited to nervous glances at students lurking in the shadows. She would scoff at Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley while they played Nintendo 64 stoned out of their minds, and roll her eyes at whatever ridiculous story Justin told them all while they ignored Professor Binns in History of Magic. 

But they always seemed  _ happy _ ; regardless of whatever was happening, for a while they were simply high. And for someone like Hermione, whose mind ran nonstop - the ability to simply stop sounded too good to pass up.

So there she was, nervously swallowing and facing Hogwarts’ resident drug dealer. “I’m hoping you can help me. I wanted to, you know.” She made the motion for smoking a joint.

Seamus’ eyes lit up and Dean clapped his hands. “It would be our pleasure!” Dean smiled.

She pulled out some Galleons but Seamus shook his head. “First one’s on us - it’s not every day I have the opportunity to get Hermione Granger high.” He pulled a joint out of his pocket, rubbing it underneath his nose and giving a short nod in approval. He handed it to Dean, who pulled out a Zippo lighter and lit the joint, taking a deep drag.

He handed it to Hermione, watching her carefully, “Do you know what to do?”

She considered this - she had done some research before coming here, which primarily consisted of watching others smoke up under the Quidditch bleachers or in hidden alcoves. But still, when presented with the prospect of actually inhaling the substance, she felt completely out of her element. “Er...” she said finally, clearly uncomfortable.

Dean gave her a disarming smile. “You just put it to your lips, and inhale.” He demonstrated, showing her slowly and then letting a puff of smoke out. He handed her the joint and she felt a rush of warmth reach her cheeks as she accepted the stick.

It didn’t seem all that intimidating - simply marijuana wrapped in some paper. She carefully put it to her lips and inhaled, breaking down into a coughing fit in the process.

Seamus laughed. “Always happens the first time,” he explained, encouraging her to try again.

She did, pulling a little less roughly and feeling a sense of satisfaction when she watched the smoke escape her lips. “I did it!” she exclaimed somewhat comically, a wide smile covering her face.

“Yeah!” Dean shouted, offering her a high five which she accepted. She didn’t think she was  _ high _ yet, but she did feel at ease with Seamus and Dean, who seemed so utterly thrilled with her for simply accomplishing the feat of smoking a joint.

She ventured to take another hit, feeling more confident as she inhaled, following Dean’s instructions to a tee. As the minutes passed, her mind growing more cloudy, she noticed the two Gryffindor boys wandered off to where Luna sat. Padma was gone - presumably back to her dorm. On some level, Hermione wondered if she should worry about the girl and whatever pills she had purchased, perhaps say something to Pavarti, but couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Instead, she sat on a concrete pillar, allowing her gaze to shift to the night sky. In the middle of nowhere Scotland, the stars were vivid, the night sky marked by the Milky Way streaming across. _ It was beautiful _ , she thought as she watched a shooting star streak past. She took another hit of the joint, now fairly confident she was beginning to feel its effects. 

“Granger.” She heard the familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy and couldn’t help the slight smile that graced her lip. They had begun something of a comfortable routine - meeting on occasion outside the Black Lake to listen to music, though it was usually  _ his _ music because he was a self-admitted snob.

“Malfoy.” She turned slightly to face him, noticing the way his hair reflected the stars, except those strange streaks of black he wore. 

He was beautiful, she thought to herself, her gaze lingering on his features, his too thin frame and ratty shirt. She frowned, wondering where the errant thought came from, before giggling slightly, realizing she was now, indeed high.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” He stood about a foot away, wearing a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Hermione noticed behind him stood Theo Nott, appearing to be in some sort of fierce, though friendly, debate with Seamus.

Hermione shrugged, unable to keep her eyes off the blonde. “First time.” She scooted over and beckoned Malfoy to join her. He looked momentarily hesitant but eventually sat, leaving a few inches between them. 

They sat in a peaceful sort of silence and Hermione forced herself to look away, once more training her gaze on the night sky.

“So what made you decide to do it?” Malfoy asked, pointing to the joint in her hand.

She shrugged. “I’ve been feeling - out of sorts. Trying to go through the motions - figuring at some point, I would feel right again. I guess I decided - it was time to try something else.” She hadn’t meant to say so much, but between the fuzziness in her head and the way his fingers lay against the concrete just inches from her own she felt compelled.

He frowned slightly. “So you’re trying to, what? Feel better?”

“Are you judging me?” she asked somewhat incredulously. She felt a faint laugh escape her throat and watched his own lip quirk.

He shook his head. “No - I just-” he looked so thoughtful, and she leaned forward slightly so she could look him in the eye, “-self-medicating isn’t a great idea.”

“Hmm,” she mumbled, “it’s not about that - it’s about trying something new. Like you and your music - letting myself experience something different. Here we are Malfoy, on the precipice of everything. I guess I decided it was time to do something Hermione Granger never would.”

He smiled, moving his fingers to find hers and she relished the feel of his cool and calloused hand. She entwined her fingers with his, mesmerized by his light skin, the way his thumb circled her palm.

At some point he turned away from her, instead facing the stars, though he held her hand steady. She wondered what was going through his head - was he thinking about her, or perhaps his mind was conceiving some new melody? Was he as affected by her touch as she was his?

She attempted to discreetly scoot closer to him, letting their shoulders meet so she could lean her head against him. 

“What brings you here tonight?” she asked him quietly.

He shifted slightly. “Nott needed to pick something up.” 

She didn’t push, for once in her life not particularly bothered to know all the answers. 

He turned and planted a light kiss on her forehead, releasing her hand so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.

It was so comfortable - between the high and his warmth and the stars against the black of night. It was a feeling she had almost forgotten - comfort and safety. 

He started humming something, a tune she vaguely recognized. “What’s that?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.

He pulled his wand from his pocket, casting a brief spell and allowing a melody to erupt from the Hawthorne stick. “ _ Yellow Ledbetter _ \- Pearl Jam.”

She nodded, pressing her cheek into his shoulder and letting the soft melody wash over her. As she felt Malfoy’s hand draw circles along her back and heard the laughs and back smacks of her classmates on the other side of the terrace, she felt for the first time in a long time a sense that she belonged somewhere.

* * *

_ October 17, 1997 _

A little over a week later, she was attempting to finish an Ancient Runes assignment in the Gryffindor Common Room. 

Or - she would have been, were it not for the incessant  _ noise _ . 

Hermione typically got along with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil - usually letting their constant ramblings about makeup and celebrity gossip wash over her. They were helpful when she had questions about how to effectively straighten her hair with magic, and were instrumental to her finding the perfect dress for the Yule Ball in 4th year.

But like many things, she found what was once cute or even endearing was now utterly grating. Lavender sat in her inflatable chair, bouncing to Spice Girls’ “Wannabee” playing on full blast from the Common Room’s speaker system. Other than Lavender and Parvati, who were singing along and doing some sort of choreographed dance with their arms, the other students appeared apathetic or annoyed. 

Ron was playing Zelda on the Nintendo 64, a group of third and fourth years watching the video game master with a sense of awe. Some second year girls were huddled around their Tamagotchis and a complement of first year boys were playing Pogs nearby.

“Lavender,” Hermione started, attempting to keep her voice calm. The girl continued her incessant singing, her voice gnawing at her like nails on a chalkboard, completely ignoring her. Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them, pulling out her wand.

“ _ Reducto! _ ” she called out, aiming her spell at the pink inflatable chair. She watched with satisfaction as the air slowly seeped from it and Lavender shrieked, falling unceremoniously to the ground.

There was an odd silence as the room’s occupants all turned to see what the ruckus was about, before an ad hoc round of applause erupted.

“Yeah, Hermione!” Ron shouted, sending a smile her way. Lavender was fuming, still on her deflated chair, her face turning red.

Hermione’s eyes were wide - realizing she had  _ actually _ deflated the girl’s chair with a well placed spell. It had been an impulse - something she would have ignored a year earlier but now - in this new version of herself where she couldn’t bring herself to simply fade into the background, fuming behind closed doors - she had actually done it.

“Sorry,” Hermione said to the girl sheepishly, though she couldn’t help the slight smile that covered her features.

Lavender gave her a seething glare and stood up, retrieving Parvati and heading up to their dormitory. Hermione realized she would need to eat some crow if she wanted to sleep in peace, but in the meantime she felt an odd adrenaline rush from doing something  _ bad _ \- or at least something particularly out of character.

“That was amazing. I was hoping someone would stop them.” Ron was looking at her with something like admiration, though his blood shot eyes left some room for interpretation.

“Thanks.” Hermione turned back to her homework, though she found even without the shrieking music and the squeaks of Lavender’s chair, she was still unable to concentrate.

“Want a brownie?” Ron called to her from the recliner. She looked at him and noticed a glint in his eye.

“What kind?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “The good kind. Seamus mentioned you may be interested.”

She looked back at her homework, specifically the paragraph she had read at least 5 times by now, and figured she could always do it tomorrow morning. She grabbed the proffered brownie and slunk into the recliner to Ron’s left. 

He watched her eat the brownie, an amused look marking his face and she wondered just what the boys said about her in their dormitory. 

“So?” he asked, his game of Zelda mementarily forgotten.

“Good?” she shrugged, quickly finishing the chocolate square. She felt the effects instantly. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” Ron chuckled. “Seamus does something with magic so they hit you immediately.”

It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to her experience with the joint earlier that month, but the fact that she was inside rather than exposed to the elements made her feel warmer. She was drawn to the screen in front of her, watching with fascination as Ron moved his character across the screen, fighting and collecting rupees.

“You wanna play?” he asked her tentatively.

She felt light and warm, vaguely aware that her cheeks were painfully red, her eyes drooping. “I dunno how.”

“How about Mario Kart?” He swallowed, wearing a nervous smile.

She’d never played - but watched Neville and Ron enough that she felt reasonably confident it wasn’t terribly difficult. She felt oddly adventurous - after all, she’d effectively destroyed Lavender's chair, eaten a weed brownie and skived off her homework. “Alright.”

He looked elated, and in the back of her mind, Hermione recalled that Ron Weasley supposedly had a crush on her since 3rd year when she had told off that fraud Trelawney. She watched him carefully remove the Occarina of Time cartridge and replace it with Mario Kart.

It was a fascinating experience, playing a video game for the first time. She was careful at first before becoming more bold, moving Yoshi around the track and hitting as many of the question marks as possible.

Ron was something of an expert - she knew this before agreeing to play against him. Even in First Year, he was something of a video game prodigy, easily defeating the Seventh Years in Pong and whatever games were played back then. He helped her though, throwing words of encouragement her way and advising when a shell was in danger of slamming into her character.

She realized it was the first time she had done anything with Ron without Harry or some other Gryffindors around - and she was surprised to find she was enjoying herself. While she didn’t necessarily bear any romantic interest for the boy, she could see him as more than simply Harry’s friend or the back up Quidditch keeper. 

She wasn’t sure how long they played - each game seemed to bleed into the next and students came and went around them, occasionally cheering one of them on or asking after someone. At some point, Harry showed up, claiming he had been at the library and giving Hermione an inscrutable look.

“What?” she asked her best friend, doing her best to appear sober. It wasn’t so much she felt shame for her behavior, just that it was after all a  _ school  _ night.

“Nothing.” Harry shook his head but continued to sneak glances her way and she could feel the disapproval pouring off of him.

Later, once the Nintendo 64 was turned off and Ron had wandered off to his dorm, Harry finally said something. 

“Hermione,” he started earnestly, “you know how he feels about you.”

She laughed, unable to hold it in. “We’re just playing video games!”

“Okay, but does he know that?” Harry’s eyebrows were raised in question.

Hermione felt certain Ron  _ should _ have known that, but her mind was still murky and she couldn’t find the right words to assuage her friend.

“Look, Hermione. I love you. You’re my best friend. But - Ron and Draco are my friends too.” He looked at her expectantly.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” She crossed her arms over her chest. 

She did know what he was getting at - he was calling her a tease - or something. But she wanted him to say it out loud, to her face.

“Nothing, Hermione.” He sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Hermione noticed the circles under his eyes and realized she hadn’t seen much of her best friend around recently. Though to be fair, she had been so distracted by illicit drugs and listening to music with Malfoy that she hadn’t spent much time really focusing on Harry.

“Where have you been?” she asked him.

He clammed up. Harry couldn’t hide anything to save his life - his tight lips and scrunched face revealed some sort of secret. “It’s nothing.” He waved her off.

She thought about pushing but was frankly too stoned to really focus, so she nodded and left, ignoring the pointed stares from her roommates as she collapsed into bed.

* * *

_ October 30, 1997 _

Draco had been looking forward to Seventh Year since the first time he walked into the Slytherin Common room and learned that the Seventh Years alone had the power to control the music. 

It wasn’t  _ literal _ , there was no magic that prevented a younger student from changing it, but it was an important tradition passed down through the years. In his father’s time it had been a record player, and supposedly before that a jukebox, but it was a boombox now.

What he hadn’t considered was that there would be nine Slytherins vying for control.

“No one wants to listen to grunge, Draco,” Theo attempted to argue.

Draco scoffed, “And you think they want to listen to punk?”

“Yes,” Theo stood straighter and spelled a CD into the boombox. The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” blared throughout the common room.

“Really?” Draco made a wincing face, covering his ears with his hands.

“You boys,” Pansy scoffed, shaking her head. She wore her typical overalls and combat boots with thick liner under her eyes.

“No!” Draco whipped out his wand, pointing it at the CD in her hand. “No Marilyn Manson, Pansy. Please.”

It was a typical Thursday night, and as much as he grunted and groaned, he wouldn’t have it any other way. The Slytherin Common Room always felt like home to Draco, whose literal home was an ancestral Manor from a bygone era. The Common Room walls had been covered in chalk board paint by an earlier class, and many of the Slytherins could be found drawing and writing in all sorts of neon colors. 

They drew everything, from crude drawings to confessions. Draco caught Tracey Davis and Millicent Bullstrode off to the side, writing out the song lyrics to Alanis Morisette’s “Ironic _ ” _ for whatever reason.

Halloween was the next day and there was a general buzz amongst the younger students who were anxious for the Feast and to see the giant pumpkins. Draco sat with Pansy, resigned to letting her play Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” in return for her fixing his black nails.

“So you’ve been - missing quite a bit this year,” Pansy commented, her eyes never leaving his hands.

She said it as though it were a throwaway line - small talk almost. But Draco knew Pansy - had known the witch since they were toddlers. He could see the small raise of her right eyebrow and knew he had been trapped into a ‘serious talk’.

“I’ve been around.” He tried to defend himself, shrugging as best he could without moving his hands.

She paused, raising her eyes to him momentarily before returning her focus to his nails. “A little bird told me you’ve been spending time with a certain Gryffindor out by the Black Lake.”

Draco felt his neck warm and an irrational feeling of being ‘caught’ overtook him. He felt fairly certain the little bird was Theo - who had given him quite a hard time after witnessing Draco holding Granger that night at the Gryffindor rooftop terrace. 

He wasn’t quite sure what was happening between them - but he was fairly certain he didn’t want his friends intervening. There was a push and pull already without outside interference. Since that night, he’d fought his desire to grab her hand whenever they spoke, to pull her to him. When he found a new song or album, his gut reaction was to find her, share it with  _ her _ . See her reaction, fight with her over how good it was.

But she was grieving - and he didn’t want to be a coping mechanism. He noticed the way she watched him, biting down on her lip - and he didn’t think he could handle being just a passing fancy of Hermione Granger’s.

“So what if I am?” he responded to Pansy.

“Be careful.” She squeezed his hand, her tone earnest. “I don’t know her - granted - but from what I can tell-” she paused, carefully painting his right thumbnail, “-she’s on something of a downward spiral.”

Draco scoffed, “I don’t think it’s that bad-”

Before he could respond, a paper airplane came flying his way. He vaguely recognized it as a Gryffindor method of communication. It landed in front of him and opened, revealing Hermione’s tidy scrawl:

_ I have an idea - meet me in the alcove outside of the Great Hall at 11pm tonight. _

_ HG _

He tried his best to subdue his smile, fully aware Pansy was critically watching the twinkle grow in his eye.

“Speak of the devil,” she mumbled, patting his hand, “all done.”

“Thanks.”

“Draco - I’m serious by the way - be careful. I know you’re getting a lot of pressure from your father, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She was so earnest he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her.

“Alright, Pans.”

* * *

Hermione pulled him into the alcove, her eyes alight with excitement. 

“What?” he whispered.

She quietly cast a  _ Muffliato _ . “You can speak normally now.”

“Alright.” He couldn’t help his grin, noticing she still held his hand. “What did you drag me out after curfew for?” Her hair was no longer flat - the short bob scattered in waves. It framed her face perfectly, accentuating her chocolate brown eyes and deviously guileful smile.

She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a black turtleneck, further leading him to believe whatever she had in mind was - outside of the school rules.

“So, you know how you’re looking for materials for songs?” she reminded him. He nodded, gesturing with his hand for her to get on with it. “Right, so I was thinking - let’s mess with the Great Hall! Tomorrow’s Halloween - let’s go crazy - decorate this place, tear down the class tables. I mean - think of how epic it would be? It’s our Seventh Year after all!”

He couldn’t decide if he was more scared, worried or enthralled by the girl. On the one hand, the idea of desecrating the Hogwarts Great Hall should have horrified her. But this wasn’t  _ that _ Hermione Granger - this was the girl who snuck out to smoke a joint and slacked off on homework to listen to music beside the Black Lake.

And he didn’t have it in him to deny her anything, especially when she was doing this for him, after all. “What are you thinking?”

“Come on!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the Great Hall. He could only smile and follow the witch as she pointed at the different house tables, at the ceiling and the walls. She pulled out diagrams she had put together and a list of spells, explaining everything they could do.

It was detailed and precise - exactly what one would expect a Hermione Granger plan to be. Only instead of timetables for studying, it was a prank. He followed her every directive, laughing as they moved all of the house tables and Confounded the ceiling. He was nearly in hysterics when she managed to charm the pumpkins into burping.

She was alight; she was  _ alive _ in a way that made him feel warm. Even if perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, she was doing something, making something. 

And she had included him. Sure, he had been her excuse, but still - there were plenty of rash Gryffindors who would have been happy to join in this idiotic venture. But she had chosen him.

As they finished, with a final charm on the entryway that would force each student who entered into a costume of their choosing, he couldn’t help but be reminded of Pansy’s warning, but feared it was too late.

Whatever this was, he was in deep.

The next morning, he did his best to act surprised when he walked through the Great Hall doors and was transformed into Kurt Cobain. The students were elated by the prank - the Seventh Years were all seated at a circular table in a corner, the houses all mixed together.

There was something about the sight, his class together without the borders that typically divided them. He took a seat next to Harry, ignoring his cousin's pointed glare and watched Hermione grin at everyone, completely and utterly elated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate any/all reviews, comments and feedback!


	3. Sugarhigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Hap9rlZoMzCUTa8zfO5AX?si=5yOcc8OgQXucIh_L4Jb38g) for the playlist for this chapter.

_ November 12, 1997 _

“It’s not a date,” Hermione explained to Harry for what felt like the 50th time. She was pulling on her red scarf and preparing to leave the Common Room when Harry had approached and made the snide comment that she  _ ‘looked good for her date with Mafoy’ _ .

Harry gave her a disapproving look. “You’re going with him to Hogsmeade. Just the two of you.”

She couldn’t stop the huff that escaped her lips, “We’re going to the record shop. That’s all. We’ll be back in time for movie night.”

“Which I assume you’ll watch together?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“We’ll all be together Harry! Including you! What’s with the interrogation?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

This wasn’t their first debate over her evolving friendship with Draco Malfoy and she assumed it wouldn’t be the last. Harry seemed wary of their friendship, for some reason believing it was inevitable that either she or Draco would get hurt. It had become incredibly irritating and she found his need to continue to bring it up quite patronising.

“And honestly,” she continued when he simply stood, mouth gaping, “even  _ if _ it were more - what would be your problem with it?”

Harry’s face grew red. “I care about you both, alright? I just - you’re both in a tough place. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“Look Harry-” Hermione felt the tension building in her muscles begin to subside, “Draco’s become - a good friend to me - alright? And I know I’m a bit of a mess but you’re my best friend - so can’t you trust me?”

He gave her one of his signature half-smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not for the first time that year, she felt a growing chasm between them, but couldn’t find the words to breach it.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade?” she asked after a particularly awkward silence. 

He fixed his gaze on a particularly exotic portrait to her right. “Er, not sure.”

She would have preferred the awkward silence to whatever it was that was happening. But she didn’t exactly have time to psychoanalyze Harry’s drama and instead bade her friend goodbye and left, promising to make it to the Room of Requirement in time for movie night.

Draco was waiting for her in a small cranny outside of the Hogwarts main entrance, smoking a cigarette as discreetly as possible in spite of the mass of students coming and going. He smirked when he saw her in a way that made Hermione’s neck warm.

“Ready?” he asked, putting out his cigarette.

She nodded and they joined the throngs of students making their way to Hogsmeade. She kept repeating to herself that it wasn’t a date - but still couldn’t stop the tips of her fingers from grazing against his, or bumping her shoulder against him when he made an asinine comment about her music choice.

Hermione had never been to  _ Musicorum _ , and from the outside the place didn’t look like much - magical band posters obscured the windows and the sign looked like it was about to fall off of the store front. But when she walked in, the tiny dilapidated store transformed.

It was  _ huge _ ; there were records, CDs and cassettes as far as her eye could see. Signs pointed to Magical versus Muggle music and then by genre. 

“How did I not know about this place?” Hermione mumbled, realizing she had gripped Draco’s hand.

He gave her an indulgent smile. “Hogsmeade’s best kept secret.”

He squeezed her hand but didn’t let go and started dragging her around the store, pointing out his favorite albums, ones that were disappointing, ones Theo and Pansy had made him suffer through and ones he had to literally destroy after he listened to.

She couldn’t stop smiling as she watched his eyes shine when he showed her Nirvana’s  _ Nevermind _ and Pearl Jam’s  _ Ten _ . She felt she was seeing something real - this was Draco Malfoy’s passion - and he was sharing it with her. It meant something she wasn’t quite able to grasp and filled her with a mixture of anticipation and fear.

“Oh!” She stopped him when they passed a familiar artist. She grabbed the Tom Petty album, looking over the back of the case.

“Tom Petty?” he asked with a touch of disdain in his tone.

“Yes, Tom Petty.” She stood up straighter, confident in her music preferences. “He’s excellent. Have you ever even listened to him?”

“I usually prefer to avoid folk rock where possible.” He shivered as though horrified by the thought.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m going to buy this and we’re going to listen to the entire thing. And if you don’t like “Free Fallin’”, we may have to get your head checked.”

He looked horrified by the prospect and she couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips at his expense. 

They eventually found the new releases where Draco insisted on going through each and every album, scouring for something he couldn’t put into words. Occasionally, he would drag her to a listening station, frowning as he analyzed some song or another before depositing the album in the floating basket or returning it to its shelf.

“Listen to this!” He held the massive headphones in such a way so they could each hear out of one of the speakers. She leaned her head in, hyperaware that Draco’s face was only a few inches from hers. She could feel his tobacco scented breath against her cheek and the weight of his gaze stuck firmly on her. The dulcet tones of Soundgarden emanated, though her focus was stuck on the feel of Draco so close to her.

> _ Black hole sun _
> 
> _ Won't you come _
> 
> _ And wash away the rain _

“What did you think?” he asked. She wondered sometimes why he bothered - he was quite self-assured in his taste in music.

“It was good.” She shrugged.

He scoffed, “Good? Did you hear that? Do we need to play it again?”

She laughed. “No it’s alright. Are you going to get it?”

He grabbed the Soundgarden  _ A Sides _ album and gave her a  _ look _ as if to imply it was obvious.

He was meticulous and purposeful, occasionally asking a sales person about an album he had assumed was out but couldn’t find. It reminded her of how she once felt about school - a sense of drive and purpose. The errant thought made her smile falter; a fear taking hold that she would never feel that sense of self-assuredness again.

“Are you alright?” Draco squeezed her hand, brows furrowed.

She did her best to shake herself out of it. “Just thinking.” She looked at the stack of CDs in his floating basket. “You’re getting NOFX?” She was genuinely surprised given Draco’s notorious loathing of punk rock.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s for Theo - I’m sure he’ll love it. And, I admit, they’re not  _ terrible _ .”

“That’s - quite charitable of you.” She remarked, somewhat surprised. “So is it only me that you force your music on?”

He laughed. “I’ve given up on Theo. But I don’t think you’re a lost cause.” The look he gave her seemed meaningful in a way she couldn’t describe. She felt warm from his gaze, the fact that in this shop full of his favorite thing, he was distracted by her.

He took a breath and returned his attention to the new releases.

“Who’s Nine Inch Nails?” she asked, frowning at the unfamiliar album  _ The Downward Spiral _ sitting in the basket.

His eyes lit up. “I think you’ll like them - they’re more alt rock than grunge.” He went on, describing the song “Hurt”, waxing poetic in a way only he could.

“If you say so.”

They must have been in the shop for hours, but Hermione felt she could have spent all day watching Draco in his element. When they finally left, he had needed to charm his backpack larger to accommodate all of the CDs and blank tapes he purchased.

The sun was beginning to set and they were slowly making their way through the main Hogsmeade thoroughfare back to Hogwarts. She was content, simply walking in the cool late afternoon, hand in hand with Draco. She suspected he felt the same, allowing her to set such a languid pace.

He stopped near the edge of the main street in front of a tattoo parlor called  _ Lingo _ , sending a calculated look towards the glass where a man was tattooing a woman’s shoulder.

“You want a tattoo?” Hermione asked him eventually.

He shrugged. “It was always made very clear to me that  _ Malfoys _ don’t get them.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she pointed out. “Do  _ you _ want one?”

He bit his lip, frowning slightly. “Sure - but I guess I’m not quite sure if I  _ actually _ want one or if it’s simply a desire born from rebellion.”

She nodded, “You’re told you can’t get one so you want one even more.”

She didn’t have that kind of pressure; her parents - her dad - trusted her to make decisions about her future. She swallowed at the reminder of her mum, willing the fleeting thought away.

She couldn’t quite imagine what that was like - having your life planned before you had a chance to live it. She was beginning to understand why the Slytherins were the way they were - they had to live with a future that felt out of their control. 

Draco appeared lost in a memory. “It’s been made very clear to me conformity is of utmost importance. My uncle Sirius was nearly disinherited when he got the Gryffindor lion inked onto his arm.” 

“Was it worth it you think?”

Draco shrugged. “He’s always done what he wants - what makes him happy. He doesn’t really see the point of keeping the family name intact if all it means is sacrifice for nothing in return.” The fact seemed like common sense to her; if everyone sacrifices for the future then at what point do people stop sacrificing and start living? Though perhaps for a Pureblood this was illuminating.

“You two are close?” Hermione knew that Sirius was the common link between Harry and Draco but had never really given it substantial thought before.

Draco nodded. “He and my mum weren’t too close but after she died he started coming around quite a bit. Apparently it was one of her last requests - my father wasn’t thrilled but he loved my mum so he allowed it - reluctantly.”

“Why do you think she did that?” Hermione asked quietly.

They were walking once again, their pace so slow First Years were breezing past them. “I think she knew without her, my father would be a bit of a tyrant and wanted another influence in my life.”

“And it worked?” 

He wiped some imaginary dirt off of the shoulder of his leather jacket and shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I like to think I am who I am by some intrinsic virtue of  _ me _ . But I’ve also always looked up to Sirius. He gave me this jacket last summer - I think he knew I was getting a lot of pressure from my father to ‘man up’ so to speak and wanted me to remember it was okay to rebel every once in a while.”

“I’m glad you have him.” Hermione smiled. 

“Yeah.”

* * *

Movie night started at some point in the 80s after the  _ Breakfast Club _ came out and some Hufflepuffs found a way to transform the Room of Requirement into a movie theater of sorts. It had since evolved to where each class held their own movie night with all the houses present. Draco assumed that the Hogwarts faculty allowed the abuse of the RoR to continue only because of the ‘inter house cooperation’ aspect of the tradition.

By the time he and Hermione arrived, the typical pre-movie debate was in full force.

“Let’s all just agree with me and watch  _ Dazed and Confused _ ,” Justin Finch-Fletchley shouted on behalf of the Hufflepuffs, who put up their fists in support. Draco rolled his eyes.  _ Stoners _ , he thought and worked his way over to the Slytherins. He looked over his shoulder, watching Hermione join the Gryffindor congregation who surely had their own terrible movie choice.

“No, no _way_ are we watching _Dazed and Confused_ _again_!” Pansy cried out, “ _Clerks_!”

Draco echoed the shout of  _ Clerks  _ with the rest of the Slytherin, while the Puffs proceeded to boo.

Harry Potter had to cast a  _ Sonorus _ against his vocal chords to be heard, “None of this stoner bullshit - we want  _ Braveheart _ !”

Draco couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Really Potter? The  _ Gryffindors _ want  _ Braveheart _ ? Can you be any more of a caricature of your house?”

Harry ignored the jibe and shouted along with Neville: “They may take away our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!”

The Ravenclaws were notably quiet, watching the other houses carefully. Draco narrowed his eyes at them. “Why are you people just sitting there?” he asked.

Anthony Goldstein shrugged. “Just waiting you all out.”

It was decided, given there was virtually no chance at consensus, that they would play a game of Magical Monopoly to determine the winner. Draco was selected to represent Slytherin, based solely on his family’s net worth. Ron Weasley would be playing on behalf of Gryffindor, even though he kept shouting he was no good at board games; Ernie McMillan would play for the Puffs and Terry Boot on behalf of Ravenclaw.

Magical Monopoly was thankfully much shorter than its Muggle counterpart - and ¾ of the room groaned when Terry smirked and purchased both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley on his first two turns.

“Your family is rich! You should be good at this!” Pansy smacked Draco in the head.

“I don’t think my family’s money has any bearing on my ability to play a board game,” Draco pointed out, though none of his fellow Slytherins seemed to care.

Ravenclaw easily won, and their shouts of “ _ Hackers _ !” filled the room as everyone took their seats. He made eye contact with Hermione and attempted to stealthily separate himself from his fellow Slytherins to sit next to her. He could feel a judgemental look emanating from Pansy but otherwise she kept any commentary to herself.

“Have you seen this?” Hermione asked as they sat, magically conjuring a bag of popcorn.

He shook his head. “No - but I’ll admit I’ve heard good things. I’m just glad we’re not being forced to watch  _ Braveheart _ .”

She scoffed, “ _ Braveheart _ is an  _ excellent _ movie. Perhaps not entirely historically accurate but still…”

“You Gryffindors and your action flicks…” he chastised. She smacked him playfully on the arm and he smirked at her.

The lights dimmed and the movie started. While the movie was, admittedly not  _ terrible _ , he struggled to focus. He found himself continually distracted by the witch beside him. Her hand sat precariously on the armrest that connected their seats, and after an agonizing five minutes of debate he pushed his fingers through hers, regardless of who could see them or what  _ Pansy _ and her judgement would think.

He whispered to her at one point, after a particularly odd scene involving pay phones, “Is this realistic?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” He could feel her whisper against his neck and squeezed her hand.

At some point during the movie, though Draco wasn’t paying enough attention to identify which part exactly, Hermione had lifted the armrest and leaned her head against his chest, tucking herself into him. It reminded Draco of when they sat on the Gryffindor rooftop terrace, but this time she was sober. 

Rather than watch the movie, he found himself watching her. When something funny happened, she would giggle and her entire torso shifted. When she was surprised, her mouth would open and he swore he could hear a soft gasp. He was entranced.

Draco felt confident he could write an entire song about that moment, about this girl. As it was, the quote ‘ _ And yet, she persevered’ _ ran over and over in his head, a corollary suddenly finding its way into his consciousness:  _ ‘and she was more’ _ .

It was over too soon, and he felt cold when Hermione removed herself from him, stretching slightly before standing up. 

“Thanks for being my pillow,” she told him with a slight smirk.

“Anytime,” he responded honestly.

His classmates were shouting quotes from the movie, variations of ‘Mess with the best, die like the rest’ and other memorable one-liners. He chuckled softly, watching the cohort of Seventh Years jibe one another, regardless of house.

Draco and Hermione stood somewhat awkwardly, each apparently waiting for the other to say something. Hermione’s gaze shifted to his lips and he thoughtlessly took a step towards her, without really thinking about where they were or who all was present.

“Hermione, you coming?” Harry Potter’s judgemental voice broke whatever spell they were under. Draco and Hermione jumped and turned towards him. Harry gave them both a disapproving glare, and Draco made a point not to roll his eyes at his cousin.

Hermione turned towards Draco with a look of regret. “Sure, Harry. Have a good night Draco - I look forward to introducing you to Tom Petty.” She smirked and walked away before Draco was able to quip back.

He watched with contentment as she left, smiling when she turned at the threshold, throwing a wink in his direction.

* * *

_ November 23, 1997 _

The late November Quidditch match was cancelled due to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team getting stoned and forgetting to show up, much to the Gryffindors delight. 

“Easiest win ever.” Harry grinned at him, coming from the changing rooms.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Just you wait until we play in March.”

It was all in good fun - Draco enjoyed Quidditch - although in reality, he mostly enjoyed the phenomenon of flying. That being said, in the midst of a game, his competitive nature would typically make an appearance. 

“We’ll see.” Harry punched him in the arm and ran off.

The lack of a Quidditch match meant the school population was somewhat restless. The faculty decided to allow, one time only they claimed, the Room of Requirement to be used for laser tag.

Draco grabbed Theo and Pansy before making his way up to the 7th floor corridor where the entire school seemed to be waiting in anticipation. He worked his way up to the front, stopping when he saw Neville Longbottom in front of the RoR door.

“What’s going on?” Draco asked.

“Ron’s setting up - should be ready in a few,” Neville confirmed. It made sense, Draco had to admit - Weasley was the master of video games. 

“Are we playing by houses?” Draco followed up.

Neville squinted his eyes, looking over the throngs of students. “Maybe - the Puffs are useless though.”

Draco shrugged and waited with the rest of the students until finally Ron Weasley opened the door, a huge grin on his face.

“Alright, everyone!” The cacophony quieted almost instantly. Weasley continued, “When you walk in, the room will outfit you with a vest and laser gun. You will be divided by houses for simplicity. Each house has a home base - marked by color. We’ll start in exactly 10 minutes.”

With that, everyone streamed in, the Slytherins all rushing to the corner marked in green. The room was massive - set up as a maze with different nooks and crannies. As they moved, occasionally a wall would shift or a hole would suddenly fill. They caught a few Ravenclaws trying to scope out their base and shooed them away.

A loud countdown started, followed by a short siren and the game began in earnest. Theo took command of the Slytherin team, barking at some of the younger students to keep close to home base while the older students began to scour the field.

Draco quickly separated from the other Slytherins, deftly scoring hits against the other houses, smirking at the ‘ah shits’ as the Puffs and Claws realized they’d been hit. He thought he was doing quite well when he heard his own vest power down and realized he’d been hit in the back.

He turned, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of a smirking Hermione Granger. He tried to shoot her, but he still had another 10 seconds until he would be able to play. She turned to run away, but the hole she had come from sealed up. 

Draco stalked up to her, watching her panic as he grabbed her arm. “I’m going to get you for that,” he told her with a predatory grin.

She gave him a glare, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “We’ll see about that.” But she didn’t make any motion to move, simply kept her gun pointed at his vest. 

“I didn’t think you’d play laser tag,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’ve never done it but - I wanted to try something new.” She shot him again before he even realized his vest had been powered back on.

“You’re quite good,” he complimented, moving closer to her. She licked her lips and he was reminded of their almost kiss after movie night. Unlike then, there was no Harry Potter to come and interrupt them.

But Draco took laser tag very seriously and he had another idea. He leaned towards her, counting the seconds and watching her eyes flutter. When he heard the slight hum of his vest he stepped back and shot her.

Her eyes went wide and her cheeks red. He smirked. “Told you I’d get you back.”

She shook her head, though a slight smile played on her lips. “That was cheap,” she shouted over the noise.

“All’s fair in laser tag,” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before running off with a maniacal grin. He resisted the urge to look back, instead imagining the look of incredulity or perhaps confusion she likely wore.

In the end, the Slytherins won, though as the resentful Gryffindors pointed out, only by a few points. As they filtered out to the Hogwarts halls, covered in sweat and laughing at their antics, Draco felt an odd sort of nostalgia as he considered this was the last year he would spend at school. His gaze shifted to Hermione, a few paces in front of him and laughing at something Parvati Patil said.

She turned her head, her lip quirking slightly at the sight of him and he nodded, watching her turn back to her gaggle of Gryffindors. As his thoughts shifted to what his life would be like after Hogwarts, of the responsibilities that his father planned to thrust onto him, he suddenly couldn’t imagine a future where she wasn’t around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my Alpha, [Art3misia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) and Beta, [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan)
> 
> **Also,** in preparation for writing this chapter I re-watched "Hackers" and...it's still amazing. I recommend everyone go watch it and get your 90s fix.


	4. Interstate Love Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 4 playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5crCwAVMqDOriLnT6gADEB?si=_FgCxxORQyOC2sxWErv70Q)
> 
> **TW** : Hermione talks about her mother's death.

_ December 20, 1997 _

As cliche as it might be, Hermione had always found Christmas time at Hogwarts to be magical - something about the lights and the castle brought her a sense of warmth. She recalled with fondness snowball fights with Harry and Neville, drinking eggnog and Butterbeer with Lavender and Pavarti and laughing at whatever antics Justin and the other Hufflepuffs got up to.

This year, the holiday seemed inextricably linked with her mother - all of her memories and happy thoughts tainted by her absence. She walked along the edge of the Black Lake, Elliot Smith’s  _ Either/Or _ playing on her walkman. In the distance, she could see some Second Year girls with their Beanie Babies and a few Sixth Years smoking something at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

She couldn’t seem to shake the melancholy, and feared her presence would suck the fun out of her classmates’ holiday, so instead she watched the lake begin to freeze over, and the various magical and non-magical creatures within fight for warmth.

Hermione felt a soft tap on her shoulder and pulled off her headphones, turning to find Draco, guitar slung across his back and hair windswept. 

“Shouldn’t you be with the other Lions? I heard you lot were having some epic party.” His tone was teasing but his eyes shone in concern. 

She wondered what  _ he _ was doing there - after all, the Gryffindors weren’t the only ones celebrating the end of term and the coming holiday. But looking at the tattered book in his left hand, she found her answer.

“Doing a bit of writing?” She tactfully avoided answering his question.

He shrugged. “Honestly? I can’t bring myself to celebrate going home.” 

She nodded. “I can empathize.”

They stood in companionable silence, each stuck in their own thoughts. Draco shrunk and pocketed his notebook before pulling his guitar to his front, strumming a familiar tune.

> _ I'm going out sleepwalking _
> 
> _ Where mute memories start talking _
> 
> _ The boss that couldn't help but hurt you _
> 
> _ And the pretty thing he made desert you _

“You listen to Elliott Smith?” she asked, surprised he’d stoop so low as to listen to  _ Indie _ . She was impressed with his vocal range, the way he was able hit the higher notes so precisely. It was beautiful.

He laced a finger around the wire of her headphones. “I dabble outside of grunge from time to time.  _ Either/Or _ is a good album.” 

“I know,” she told him, her lip upturned.

“So,” he returned to strumming the melody of “2:45 AM”, “you never answered my question - why is Hermione Granger, who last I checked was  _ determined _ to try new things and venture outside of her comfort zone, out here instead of at the surely  _ raging _ Gryffindor end of term party?”

She closed her eyes, momentarily basking in the breeze and the soft sounds from Draco’s guitar. 

“I can’t seem to get into the right frame of mind. I was in the Common Room, and all I could do was sit and mope. Even Neville’s hip hop rendition of “Silent Night” couldn’t get me in the spirit,” she admitted, unable to look his way. Instead she focused on the still lake.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his gaze on her, though he continued to lightly strum the tune. The morbid lyrics of “2:45 AM” floated to the top of her consciousness:

> _ With hidden cracks that don't show _
> 
> _ But that constantly just grow _

“I don’t particularly want to but I feel as though I should,” she admitted, finally turning to face him. Draco stopped playing and cast a light warming charm against the ground, inviting her to sit.

She wore slightly baggy jeans and a knit sweater along with a black beanie. Draco was in his familiar leather jacket, but he wore a forest green earflap hat that seemed oddly out of place.

He looked at her expectantly, offering his hand in support. She grabbed it, taking a few deep breaths and focusing on the way his calloused finger rubbed against her palm.

“I just - I can’t stop thinking about my Mum. For a while, I thought I was doing better, but with the holiday coming up - it seems everything reminds me of her,” she confessed, her gaze fixed on their joined hands.

“What happened?” he asked. “I know she passed - you don’t have to tell me - sorry,” he mumbled out.

Hermione nodded, squeezing his hand. “My father and I went out for coffee on a Saturday morning - something of a tradition of ours. It was just - a normal day - hotter than usual maybe but - nothing out of the ordinary.” She paused, feeling a pressure in the back of her eyes.

Draco pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her. She let herself be comforted, relishing the warmth of his chest against her cheek.

“We came home,” she continued, “and she was lying still on the couch. I saw her first - I felt like,” she swallowed, “I think I knew - she was just too still. I started shouting for her to wake up - over and over. My father called 911 but they told us it was too late.” She felt her tears melt into his leather jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her hair. 

“It was a brain bleed - probably an aneurysm. By the time she got to the hospital she was brain-dead.” She closed her eyes, comforted in the feel of his hand rubbing against her back.

“You’re the first person I’ve told,” she admitted. It was strange to say the words out loud - she hadn’t even told Harry the whole story, only sending him a brief Owl after it happened to explain why she wouldn’t be able to meet with him for their typical Diagon Alley excursion.

They just sat there for a while on the artificially warm grass. He continued drawing circles against her back, letting her just be, not trying to tell her that ‘everything would get better’ or that ‘God never gives you more than you can handle’. There was no pressure, or expectation that she should suddenly be better.

“Thank you,” she told him, sitting up and taking his hand, wiping her cheeks dry.

“You’re welcome.” He watched her carefully, a soft frown covering his face.

“How did you manage?” she asked, “If you don’t mind - I mean, after your mum…?” she trailed off.

He shrugged, brows furrowed, “It wasn’t quite the same. My mum died from a blood curse - it was slow, but at the very least I expected it - I was able to say goodbye.”

She gave him an encouraging nod and he continued, “To be honest - I don’t really know quite how I managed after. My father was devastated - some days it felt like he was barely there. Sirius was around. He’d take me and Harry places, and I think being around his general - positivity - helped.”

Hermione had often contemplated what she would have said to her mother had she had the chance. But then she wondered - what would that have been like? To live with the anticipation of knowing the end was coming? As horrific as her mother’s death had been, there was a certain comfort in knowing she hadn’t suffered - that there wasn’t a long drawn out goodbye.

“That must have been so hard - you were quite young, right?” 

He nodded. “I was only seven. I think that’s the hardest part - every year that passes my memories of her fade. I worry at one point I’ll lose it all.”

She opened her mouth to speak but realized all she had were meaningless phrases - things like ‘she’ll always be in your heart’. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I wish there was more I could do.” He admitted.

“Can you play more? Perhaps “Angeles” if you know it?” she asked.

He nodded, grabbing back his guitar and playing the soft tune. She lay down, looking up to watch him concentrate on the lyrics and the familiar chords.

And she felt for the first time in a while that she would be okay.

* * *

_ December 22, 1997 _

Hermione sat nervously on the familiar concrete boulder at the now empty Gryffindor rooftop terrace. It was strange to be there in the daytime, the feel of the December sun’s rays lightly caressing her exposed cheeks. She looked at the empty space to her right, recalling the first time Draco had held her hand, the feeling of comfort he provided.

“I got your message.” She heard Draco enter the terrace and turned around, smiling at the sight of him. He looked oddly nervous, his hands buried in his pockets and a cigarette stuck behind his ear. He pulled a hand out to brush some of his hair back, the locks now below his shoulders after a term without a cut.

“I have a Christmas present for you,” she told him, biting her lip.

He looked somewhat chagrined. “I didn’t-”

“Oh, I’m not expecting anything!” she interrupted, a wide smile covering her face. She handed him the small box, magically wrapped.

He looked at the box carefully with furrowed brows, as though contemplating if he should open it. She gave him a ‘get on with it’ gesture and he relented, carefully pulling off the wrapping and opening the box to uncover a dark grey beanie. 

“I made it,” she smiled sheepishly, once more nervous.

His face broke into a smile and he immediately ripped off his awful ear flap hat and pushed the beanie over his head, “I love it.” he told her.

She giggled, walking up and pressing the hat more firmly over his head, so it reached down to the middle of his ears. Their faces stood inches apart and she felt the laughter freeze in her throat as his gaze grew softer.

They were still, her hands frozen at the rim of the beanie as they stared at one another. A light wind swept between them and she watched with fascination as the tips of his blonde tresses swayed slightly, brushing against her pinkies.

Not for the first time, she felt they were on the precipice - that if she pushed her lips to his they could evolve into something more. It was a thought that kept her up at night - tossing and turning within her four poster bed as she contemplated Draco Malfoy. He was her  _ friend _ , a fact she constantly repeated to herself - and more than that, he had become something of an oasis for her.

It was that final thought, that she couldn’t risk losing him, that gave her the strength to step away.

His face was inscrutable. “Thank you,” he told her, patting his new hat.

She took a few breaths, debating if she should just wave goodbye and run out of there. But this would likely be the last time she would see him before Christmas.

“So,” he started again, “are you going to the New Years party?”

She perked up, grateful for the easy question. “I am - are you?”

He nodded. “I think all the Seventh Years are.”

“Well, I’ll see you there then?” She smiled.

“I’ll see you there, Hermione Granger.”

* * *

_ December 31, 1997 _

Draco had every intention to leave his house without drawing his father’s attention. In spite of his plotting, when he entered the dark drawing room to grab his leather jacket, a candle light flicked on, and his father was revealed to be seated in a brown leather chair.

“I don’t understand why you’re going to this - party.” His father spat without preamble.

Draco rolled his eyes, tying his combat boots and pushing the dark grey beanie over his head. 

“Everyone’s going - think of it as a networking opportunity.” He did his best to temper his sarcasm.

Lucius Malfoy’s narrowed, his face a mask of disappointment. “You know these - childish - antics must end.”

Everything was a childish antic to Lucius Malfoy - his music, his clothing, even his friendships that had been carefully curated by his parents in infancy.

His thoughts turned to Hermione, and his growing attachment to the witch. He wondered what his father would think of  _ that _ \- of Draco so easily fraternizing with a  _ Muggleborn _ .

“I know,” Draco exhaled, not wanting to fight with the man. Before Lucius could tap his cane or give him yet another reminder of his ‘duties’ and the importance of ‘honoring his family’, Draco Apparated to Diagon Alley.

Seamus and Justin had organized a New Years celebration for the Seventh Years, managing to score tickets to a party at the  _ Nocturnal Nightmare _ , the only solid music venue in the Alley.

He found Theo smoking a few meters from the rest of the Seventh Years. Sidling up to the boy, Draco couldn’t stop his eyes from searching the throng of students for a familiar bob of brown hair. He caught sight of Hermione huddled up with Harry and Weasley; the three appeared in some sort of light-hearted discussion. A part of him was glad to see her happy after the holiday - he had spent considerable time worried about how she would handle her first Christmas without her mother.

Another part of him was inexplicably jealous - he knew, along with the rest of Hogwarts and likely the entire Wizarding world - that Ron Weasley harbored a massive crush on Hermione. Seeing the way she smiled at something he said made Draco distinctly uncomfortable - however irrational it was. He didn’t, after all, have any sort of claim to the witch. They were friends - a fact that he’d repeated to Harry more times than he could count - no matter how many times they held hands or how often they sought comfort in one another.

He pulled out a cigarette, giving Theo a manly nod in greeting.

“Look at you, being social.” Draco remarked to his fellow Slytherin, taking a deep inhale.

Theo shook his head. “What can I say - it’s our last year. These assholes are starting to grow on me.”

Draco found himself agreeing with the odd sentiment - feeling as though after seven years together it was only now, on the verge of it all ending, that he felt a sense of camaraderie with his classmates.

“Fuckers,” Pansy yelled at them from where she stood by Greg and Daphne. 

Draco rolled his eyes, taking a final drag and stepping on the cigarette butt. As he approached Pansy, he caught sight of Hermione turning in his direction, a brilliant smile aimed his way. All previous notions of jealousy evaporated, and he gave her a small wave.

“You’ve got it bad,” Pansy remarked, shaking her head.

“What?” Draco turned to the girl, brows furrowed.

“Granger,” Pansy said slowly. “You’ve got it bad for her. Did I stutter?”

Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring her and turning his attention to Theo. “I thought you would have changed hair color by now?”

Theo shook his head. “It’s still 1997.”

Draco pleaded, “You know, you can tell me what color you’ll grace us with in 1998. I promise, I won’t use it for personal gain.”

It was a long standing tradition in Slytherin house to bet on what color Theo would dye his hair each year. Draco, with Hermione’s help, had developed a rather complex algorithm based on a combination of hair colors he had chosen in the past along with what hues that Theo himself was partial to, and came up with - yellow. That being said, he had until midnight to change his guess.

“Don’t even think about it.” Pansy smacked Draco in the head, earning a raw chuckle from Theo.

“You guys are the worst,” Draco complained.

“Oh, you love us.” Theo smiled.

“Because you’re all I got.” He pointed out.

“But that’s not quite true anymore, is it?” Pansy started, a familiar glint in her eye. “You have  _ her _ now.”

It wasn’t the same - but he wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. Yes, he had grown close to Hermione - but there was something about his friendship with Theo and Pansy that was unbreakable. Something permanent.

“Whatever,” Draco said instead, once more rolling his eyes.

Finally, Justin appeared from a side door, beckoning them all inside. The Puff looked properly drunk, and quite jittery as he led them through a VIP area until they finally reached the party.

The floor was packed - hundred of witches and wizards milled about, some dancing while others drank or simply listened to the band. The Cranberries were playing that night and the stage was charmed, causing different colors to stream from the instruments, resulting in quite a magnificent colorful display throughout the room.

“Fucking Cranberries,” Theo complained, though his slight smile betrayed his wonder at the space.

“They’re not  _ bad _ ,” Draco argued. Pansy merely scoffed, her Black Sabbath tee visible beneath her signature overalls.

“You partaking tonight?” Theo asked, pushing his finger against the side of his nose.

Draco shook his head, “I don’t think so - not tonight.”

Theo shrugged and left to presumably find Seamus and some blow. Draco watched, frowning slightly as he saw Hermione whispering something to Finnegan and the pair make some sort of exchange, before letting himself get distracted by the live rendition of  _ Dreams _ .

“You like them?” He jumped, turning to see Hermione a few inches behind him. She had that same smile, the one he’d decided she reserved especially for him.

He shrugged. “They’re not bad.”

“Are they magical?” she asked, “I always assumed they were muggle.” She was moving her hips to the music, bobbing her head slightly. She wore all black - a waist high skirt that flowed out to her knees and a long sleeve shirt that hung off her shoulders. She hadn’t flattened her hair, and it instead hung in waves down to her shoulders.

She was undeniably beautiful, and he felt once more jealous of every man who had seen her that night, sure that they must have felt as he did. 

“They are,” he answered finally, “there are quite a few bands that have managed to permeate both markets.”

“Who else?” she asked, wide eyed.

“Hmm,” he considered, “well, U2 of course - oh, and Hanson.”

“What? Hanson?” She made a face as though something smelt particularly bad.

Draco chuckled lightly. “Rumor has it there was some sort of Potions accident involving Felix Felicis - caused them to become inexplicably popular.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than any explanation I could come up with,” she reasoned.

The song shifted and the band started playing an acoustic rendition of  _ Linger _ . The crowd seemed suddenly far away, an irrelevant blur and Draco turned to Hermione and asked, “Do you want to dance?”

She nodded, allowing Draco to pull her to him. He wasted a few seconds thinking about the countless ballroom dancing lessons he suffered through as a child, and how they didn’t prepare him for  _ this _ . Hermione leaned into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist as they swayed side to side.

She was warm, in spite of the chill outside - her cheek pressed against his Jane’s Addiction tee and her heat seemed to seep into him. He did what he could to pull her closer, shutting his eyes at the contact, allowing himself to relish the moment.

His mind filled unbidden with a series of what ifs - of an impossible future where he could ignore his father, ignore the obligations he had to his ‘pureblood’ heritage and simply  _ be _ with this witch. For a fleeting instant, he saw it all - a different concert every night, the pair of them sitting underneath an Oak tree writing song lyrics. 

He swallowed, squeezing Hermione lightly, as though reassuring himself the moment was real. She hummed against him, the vibrations from her throat pushing against his neck. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around his back, like she was afraid to let go. 

The song felt particularly poignant in that moment, the way this witch had permeated every facet of his life. He felt then and there she had such power over him. 

> _ Because I’m in so deep _
> 
> _ You know I’m such a fool for you _
> 
> _ You’ve got me wrapped around your finger _
> 
> _ Do you have to let it linger _

As quickly as the song started, the strum of the guitar ended. It took a few seconds for him to willingly loosen his grip and let her effectively separate from him. Her eyes were slightly glazed but they looked at him with a steady intensity and he let himself believe that just maybe she felt something for him beyond the friendship they so adamantly claimed. 

“I, uh - told Harry I’d be right back,” she told him, though her face looked uncertain.

He nodded, unable to effectively speak at the moment, watching her work her way back to the horde of Gryffindors loitering at a bar off to the side.

He made for a small balcony, lighting a cigarette and casting a quick warming charm on himself. 

“Can I bum one?” He turned around to see Dean Thomas at the threshold. Draco nodded, handing the Gryffindor a smoke.

“Nice night,” Dean stated conversationally.

“Hmm.” Draco nodded, barely listening.

“So,” Dean started, walking forward so his arms leaned against the railing. “What’s with you and Granger?”

It was a familiar refrain, something he was used to. In this instance though, it caused him to roll his eyes. “I could say the same to you.”

“Excuse me?” Thomas’ voice was incredulous.

“I see her with you and Finnegan. You know she’s going through something - and you all just - what are you giving her anyways?” He turned to Dean, forcing him to look him in the eye.

Dean put his hands up. “We don’t judge.”

Draco laughed, though there was no humour to it. “Yeah, right. You just enjoy the profits.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, “It’s none of your business Malfoy.”

“That’s what I was about to say.” Draco put out his cigarette and headed back inside, trying to shake off his irritation.

The familiar chords to  _ Zombie _ were emanating from the stage, a stream of yellows and purple notes from the guitar and dark grey from the bass. Draco was momentarily mesmerized by the display, the flow of the colors streaming through one another. 

He made his way to where he’d seen Hermione earlier, finding the majority of the Seventh Years standing around, shots being handed out.

“EVERYONE!” Justin shouted from where he stood on top of the bar. Like most of his antics, Draco was amazed Justin got away with it, unsurprised to see the bartender shake her head but otherwise make no effort to stop the Hufflepuff.

“Here’s to Seventh Year! And getting the fuck out of Hogwarts!” he bellowed, downing the shot of Firewhiskey in one go. Draco felt himself grin, grabbing his own shot from Crabbe and joining the throngs of shouts.

A booming voice came out of the walls:  _ “Thank you all for spending New Years Eve with us! We have one more minute to midnight!” _

Draco turned towards the stage, where the Cranberries had stopped playing and instead a massive countdown clock floated.

He tried to discreetly look for Hermione and felt a small relief when she caught his eye and started walking towards him.

“Hi,” he said, nervously brushing his hair with his fingers.

“Can you believe it? It’s our last year. It’s going to be 1998 in less than a minute!” Her eyes were wide and she had to shout for him to hear her.

He nodded, finding it hard to speak. In the background he heard the shouts of  _ 10! 9! 8! _ But his eyes were firmly on the witch in front of him.

“Hermione,” he said, taking a step forward to close the remaining space. She looked nervous, but he could also recognize a sort of stubbornness in her eye - she wouldn’t move this time.

_ 2! 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR! _

Before he had time to second guess himself, he pressed his lips to hers. She smiled, pushing against him, her arms wrapping around his neck. He felt a long held tension escape him, his fingers finding purchase on her hips, pulling her closer.

He could vaguely make out the familiar tune of  _ Auld Lang Syne _ coming from the stage, hues of pink and green mixing all around them. But he was focused entirely on the sensation of Hermione’s lips pressing against his and the way her breath hitched when his tongue pressed against hers. 

Her hands were warm against the back of his neck. He kept a languid pace, letting the kiss linger, as though afraid to change anything for fear of ending whatever spell they were under. He was sure they had an audience and somewhere in the back of his head realized they would likely each be interrogated by Potter before night’s end, but at that moment he didn’t care. 

He’d take any lecture or punishment just to have  _ this _ \- even if this was all it would ever be. 

“Happy New Year’s, Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my alpha, [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) and beta [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan).
> 
> As always, any comments/feelings/reviews/whatever are always appreciated.
> 
> [ **Side Note** : For me, Linger by The Cranberries has always felt like Dramione, so I was excited to finally have an excuse to use it in a story...]


	5. The Drugs Don't Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 playlist on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0HCSfsH6zKjc6t7tfFgDig?si=QhhmbL70SZG0yirX_muT9g) or on [Tumblr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/). At the very least, I highly recommend having "Tubthumping" by Chumbawumba queued up...

_January 14, 1998_

Hermione stood on the edge of the frozen Black Lake, trembling in her transfigured skates. She shook her head. “Nope - not going to do it.”

Draco scoffed, “Really? I told you - it’s _spelled_ so you’re perfectly safe.”

She glared at him. “I understand the magic, but there’s just something - uncomfortable with trusting a thin layer of ice not to crack beneath my weight and draw me into its depths.” 

“Alright, well, I’m going to skate.” He took off without warning, just skating around the lake for a bit before turning around, skating backwards and gesturing to her with his hands. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed at the boy. 

He skated up and stopped abruptly in front of her. “Well?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“Where’d you learn to skate?” she asked, suddenly aware of how close they were.

They had, since New Years, behaved as if their kiss had never happened, meeting occasionally by the Black Lake still, even with the snow a half a foot high. She had felt — disappointed at first, believing for a moment their kiss had meant something more than simply a New Year’s greeting. But, as she watched him on the ice, his grey beanie planted firmly on his head, she was reminded of what he had come to mean to her, without the complication of romantic entanglement.

“As a child, I wanted to play hockey,” he admitted with a slight shrug.

She opened her mouth in disbelief. “You? Played _hockey_?”

“Well, as I said, I _wanted_ to play hockey. My father would have none of it though - insisted on buying me a broom and signed me up for children’s Quidditch leagues. But whenever I had a chance, I’d practice.” He skated in circles, forcing her to keep turning her head to keep an eye on him. 

It made sense - that his rebellion started so young - with something as simple as _sport_ . She couldn’t imagine that kind of pressure, of only being able to play a _proper_ sport - whatever such a thing meant. She wondered how Draco had turned out so warm and kind. 

“That must have been hard,” she started, watching him once more come to a stop about a foot from where she stood. “I mean, not being able to explore the things you wanted to do.”

He nodded, looking past her towards the castle in the distance. “I don’t think I ever _really_ appreciated this place until this year. For the last seven years, I could come to this school and simply be _free_ , not have to worry about my father or the weight of my last name. We take it for granted, you know? These moments.”

She wondered what was going through his mind to cause him to wax so philosophical. She understood to some extent the pressures he was under, but from the worried glances that Harry would send his way and how Draco would grimace at any reference to his father, she imagined there was quite a bit she was missing.

“What precisely is it you’re expected to do after we graduate?” She held out her hand to him, allowing him to slowly pull her around the lake. He was thankfully quite careful and didn’t say anything when she squeezed his hand for dear life.

“Well...” She felt his words against the back of her neck, his tobacco hinted breath causing goosebumps to form on her shoulder. “I’m expected to learn the family business - right away. We own a conglomerate - and through it a number of entities, both magical and Muggle. I’m also expected to marry very quickly - ideally someone with the right ‘breeding’ or with proper ‘connections’.”

She frowned, feeling a sudden weight in her stomach at his words. Not that she had any illusions about their future, but the idea that anything between them was utterly impossible was like a punch to the gut.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she responded. He was most at ease with his guitar; his eyes most alight when a particularly poignant song lyric hit him. She couldn’t imagine a future where he sat in board meetings and married for anything other than love.

“I’m told it doesn’t matter. It’s - tradition.” His tone was so defeated, like he had completely given up hope that he could do anything other than what his father asked of him.

“But, I mean, he can’t _force_ you to live that way - can he?” She noticed he was pulling her slightly faster and she managed to grip his arm even harder.

He shrugged, “I’m not sure, to be honest. He’s always acted as though I have no choice. I _assume_ I’ll be disinherited if I were to choose a different path.”

“And that’s - a problem?” She had never seen him as particularly attached to money. She noticed on occasion that he _had_ money - just little things like the brand of his jeans or boots. But he didn’t flaunt it, and in fact wore the beanie she made him like it was his most prized possession.

“I mean, I want to say no. But it’s not just about the money - it’s about the name too. There’s been a Malfoy for over 1000 years - it _means_ something. I’m the last Malfoy - if I were to let our legacy go - that would be it,” he finished.

“You know,” she started, yanking on Draco’s arm to encourage him to stop. Once they were no longer skating, she faced him. “I think we use legacy and tradition as an excuse - to keep us in one place when another may be better. I think - if being this person your father wants you to be is something that _you_ think is important - not something you were _told_ is important, then you should do it. But if not - if you’ll simply be going through the motions, what’s the point?

“Life is short, Draco. We’ve both learned that the hard way - I can’t imagine living someone else’s life,” she finished, swallowing and watching him carefully.

His gaze was stuck on their hands, still connected, but he appeared thoughtful. “It’s hard,” he said finally.

“Growing up always is.” She smirked at him, letting go of his hand and transfiguring her skates back into boots.

“That’s it?” He put his hands up in exasperation.

“Yes, Draco,” she shook her head, laughing lightly as she walked back to the castle, contemplating Draco and who he would become after Hogwarts.

* * *

_January 24, 1998_

“So, is Draco coming?” Lavender wiggled her eyebrows at her in a way that made Hermione entirely uncomfortable.

“Er...” She had always found ‘boy talk’ painful. When they were younger, Lavender and Parvati would drag her into their games of MASH; now it was gossip - who slept with who or who was crushing on who.

“Oh, c’mon.” Parvati nudged her in the shoulder, a slight smile on her face.

While Hermione didn’t always get along terribly well with her two roommates, she still felt a certain kinship after seven years together in such small quarters. You can only share a shower with someone for so long before becoming friends.

“Draco and I are just friends.” She dismissed them, focusing on charming her hair to fall in waves.

“Oh, yes, just friends.” Lavender sat on Hermione’s bed, giving her a pointed look. “We all saw you at New Year’s; that’s not how you kiss your friends.”

That was what she had thought as well, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. She shook her head, “We had both been drinking - it was just a New Year’s kiss.”

“Alright, well regardless, is he coming?” Parvati shouted from the bathroom, carefully spelling her makeup on.

Hermione felt her face go red. “Yeah, he’s coming.”

It was the annual Gryffindor Winter Extravaganza - an ad hoc celebration the first Saturday after the temperature dropped below -10 degrees. It was typically a Gryffindor only affair, but the Seventh Years from the other houses had been invited out of a sense of nostalgia. Hermione believed that Harry and Neville also wanted to show them that the Lions partied harder than the rest of them.

Hermione wore her typical loose fitted jeans and baggy knit sweater with her hair hung loosely like she had worn it for New Years. She made her way out to the Common Room, impressed with the fake snow and false night sky that some fourth years had likely been conned into charming. 

“The Common Room looks great,” she told Harry.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

The exchange was par for the course with them. They occasionally managed a civil conversation — typically when there was an intermediary or a clear discussion topic. Otherwise, the canyon that lay between them remained.

“Who’s in charge of music?” she asked.

“Neville.” Harry raised his eyebrows. 

She snorted in response - Neville loved Rap and Hip-Hop. She’d have to photograph Draco’s reaction the moment he walked in and heard Tupac or Dr. Dre.

The other students slowly made their way down, and before long the party was in full swing. Nearly every Seventh Year was present, though she hadn’t yet had a chance to speak to Draco that night.

 _He’s a free agent,_ she reminded herself for the fifth time, catching sight of his signature blond hair from across the way.

“He’s gonna do it!” Ron shouted from atop a blue plush armchair. Herimone looked on in interest as Neville stood on a makeshift podium and casted a _Sonorus_ charm on himself. 

“What's he going to do?” She jumped at the sound of Draco’s voice in her ear, turning to give him a slight smile.

“He’s going to sing Gangsta’s Paradise; it’s something of a tradition,” she explained, watching with amusement as Neville gestured to the speaker and started moving his shoulders:

> _As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death_
> 
> _I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left_
> 
> _'Cause I've been blastin' and laughin' so long_
> 
> _That even my momma thinks that my mind is gone_

She turned and caught Draco gaping at Neville. “What?” she asked.

“I just never would have thunk it.” He seemed genuinely impressed.

She laughed, watching the scene play out before her. The Gryffindors and Seventh Years alike cheered their classmate on as he grew more red, sputtering the familiar lyrics.

“People surprise you sometimes,” she told him, meeting his eye momentarily before an eruption of applause distracted the pair.

It would be her last Extravaganza and she found herself feeling particularly nostalgic, watching Lavender and Parvati try to convince Neville to play Backstreet Boys and Harry try to beatbox. At midnight, the younger students were forced to their rooms and Seamus snapped his fingers, revealing a hidden bar in front of the fireplace.

“Now we’re talking!” Justin shouted, though he truly didn’t appear as though he needed any additional substances.

She found herself at the bar with the rest of the Seventh Year Gryffindors and a round of tequila shots floated in front of each of them. Harry cleared his throat and the group fell silent.

“Alright guys - this is our _last_ Extravaganza, so BOTTOMS UP!” Harry shouted and downed his drink, shaking his head and flashing the group a brilliant smile.

Shouts of agreement echoed and Hermione couldn’t help her wide grin as she watched her housemates throw back shots. She remembered the little things - like when they found out Seamus secretly liked Celine Dion, and the time Parvati kissed Neville Longbottom on a dare Second Year.

She shot back the tequila, wincing as it hit her throat. A familiar song came over the speakers and she let out an involuntary. “Oh no…”

“OH YES!” Dean Thomas shouted and the older Gryffindors all shouted in agreement.

Dean and Seamus proceeded to stand on the makeshift bar and perform a series of synchronized dance moves. Hermione shook her head, grabbing another shot of tequila as they did their traditional dance to A Tribe Called Quest's “Can I Kick It?”

Hermione migrated to where the entertained, if slightly confused, Hufflepuffs were congregated with a bottle of firewhiskey and some unknown pills. She heard the pair on the bar shout _Can I kick it?_ And reluctantly joined with the rest of the party with a _Yes, you can_!

“You guys do this every year?” Ernie McMillan asked her, handing her a shot of firewhiskey.

She nodded. “The second the temperature drops. I’m sure you guys have similar traditions?”

He shrugged, watching the scene unfold. Hermione felt her head begin to muddle as the effects of the alcohol took hold. As her gaze fell across the room, catching Harry’s laughter and Lavender’s whoops, an errant thought took hold. 

She would never be able tell her mother any of this. And in that moment, there was so much she wanted to talk to her about - like how much she missed her friendship with Harry and how confused she was about Draco. She wanted to tell her mother about the power of music and the new bands she’d been introduced to.

Her smile evaporated and she shook her head, willing the thoughts away.

“Justin,” she called out to the boy, who was dancing alone next to a conjured speaker, “what are those?” She pointed to the baggie sticking out of his pocket.

“Party favors.” He gave her a wink and continued his strange little dance. She wished for just an ounce of his self-confidence, for the ability to dance alone without a care in the world.

“Can I have one?” she asked, trying to push every ounce of self confidence into her tone.

He paused, his glazed over eyes shifted to hers. “Have you ever done E?” 

She shook her head. “I’d like to try it.”

He looked to the side and smiled, “Yeah, alright. Giving Hermione Granger ecstasy for the first time..” he trailed off and attempted to subtly hand her the tablet.

She stared at it, feeling the room around her slowly fade away.

“What are you doing?” she heard Draco’s drawl from behind her.

“Planning to roll on ecstasy.” She raised her brows at him. “Do you want to join me?”

“Hermione,” he breathed out, his tone patronizing, “is that a good idea?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s a party Draco. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is escalation - I mean-”

She cut him off. “Are you trying to tell me _you’ve_ never taken E?”

“That’s not the point.” He flared out his nostrils. “This isn’t you.”

She scoffed. “This isn’t me? Really?” She felt a weight in the back of her eyes, and did everything in her power to keep the torrent of tears threatening to fall at bay. “What the fuck do you know Draco? Do you think, because we talk about music, that you know everything about me? About my pain and who I am? 

“That’s it, isn’t it? I’ll always just be that swot to you - that girl with all the answers who loves school. You can never see me as anything else.” She wiped an escaped tear from her cheek.

He looked conflicted, anger and regret both clear in his eyes. “It’s not - I don’t think that. Can you just trust me that drugs aren’t the answer?”

She took the pill without preamble, enjoying the way his eyes lit in fury.

“No,” she told him, flipping him off and heading to where the Seventh Year Gryffindors were now setting up Beer Pong.

“Everything alright?” Harry asked her, eyeing where Draco was still fuming by the Puffs. She watched the blonde grab Pansy and leave the tower, feeling only the faintest regret as the portrait door slammed in his wake.

“It’s great! It’s the Extravaganza!” she told Harry, giving his hand a quick squeeze and wandering over to where Seamus and Dean were setting up for the next round.

She stood against the wall, grabbing a Bacardi Breezer that floated in her direction, and sipping as she watched the game progress. After about twenty minutes she started to notice how distinctly soft her sweater was and smiled, feeling the effects of the ecstasy hit her.

“Hermione!” Neville called from where he was replacing a CD in the boom box.

“Hey Nev.” She approached the boy, feeling a serene smile form.

“Alright?” he asked with his eyebrows raised.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the question - he didn’t have the same tone of nauseating judgement she associated with Harry, yet there was still a note of concern she didn’t appreciate.

“Yeah - all good,” she responded with what she hoped was a disarming smile.

“Good,” he eyed her carefully, “I think I know what you need…”

She looked at him suspiciously. “What?” He cast a wordless spell and the music shifted from Dr. Dre to - Jane’s Addiction?

“What?” she repeated, looking at the boy in surprise.

“Just - trust me.” He gave her a sage look and she nodded, headed over to the couch beside a speaker.

It was a song she was vaguely familiar with - “Summertime Rolls”. From where she sat, the vibrations of the bass thrummed against her back. She closed her eyes, leaning against the speaker and allowing the lyrics to sink into her.

“Hey Hermione.” She blinked, looking to her right to see Ron Weasley, his eyes glazed over.

“Ron Weasley,” she responded with a coy smile, sitting up and watching the man. He was grinning nervously; and not asking her patronizing questions or suggesting she was not in her right mind. Her gaze fell to his hair, the bright red tresses thickly lay down to the bottom of his ears. It was somewhat mesmerizing.

“Can I touch your hair?” she asked.

The side of his mouth turned up. “Er, sure?”

She leaned over, pushing her fingers through his red tresses. “It’s so soft!”

He gave her a somewhat concerning look. “What are you on?”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “just ecstasy.”

“Ah, Puffs have been passing them out like candy,” he said sagely.

She realized her fingers were still in his hair, but she didn’t particularly want to move them, enjoying the sensation.

She looked at the boy, the gleam of excitement in his eye and a fearful smile marking his lips. He was built - athletic, and she tried to imagine a world in which she could be happy with someone like him, where his strong arms could wrap around her and that would be enough.

She moved her hand, tracing down his arm until she reached his fingers, drawing circles against his palm. His hands were smooth - no calluses on his fingertips. She enjoyed the way his fingers slid against hers, the way her hands fit in his larger ones.

“Hermione,” he whispered to her, his mouth inches from her hair.

She turned, opening her mouth, though no words escaped. His gaze flitted to her lips and before she could question or consider what came next, he kissed her.

She could feel the trepidation in the way his lips pressed against hers, the tentative way his tongue approached her lower lip. But the feeling of it was like nothing else, the sensations amplified by the amphetamines and alcohol. She pushed herself into him, her arms rubbing against his torso, every inch of her needing more.

She felt him freeze and swallow. “Maybe we should move?” he suggested, his eyes darting to the dormitories.

She nodded, accepting his hand and following him, ignoring the tightening in her stomach.

* * *

_January 25, 1998_

Hermione woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, feeling particularly terrible. She frowned, squinting to avoid the harsh sunlight streaming through the window and confused by the orange Quidditch sheets on the bed. 

She became aware of two things at once: her state of dress, or more specifically lack thereof, and a freckled arm strewn across her stomach. She turned slowly, panic overtaking her, as the events of the night before played in her mind.

 _“Fuck!”_ she cried out softly, her eyes darting across the bed, desperately looking for her clothes. She sat up, searching the foot of the bed and trying with all her might not to wake up the boy next to her.

A sudden _swoosh_ to her right revealed Seamus Finnegan, opening the curtain to Ron’s four poster bed and giving her a shit eating grin. “Good morning!” 

She wanted to shush him, or maybe ask him for a shirt but then Dean and Neville were there, making comments like _‘had to see it for myself’_ that would have infuriated her if she had space to hate anyone at the moment other than herself.

She felt Ron stir next to her and winced, not having any idea what she could possibly say to him. 

“He did it!” Dean threw his hands up and turned to Neville. “You know what that means?”

Hermione didn’t but obviously the boys did. Neville cast a quick spell and Chumbawumba’s “Tubthumping” suddenly played throughout the room.

She was fairly certain this would go down as the worst moment of her life. The three boys were dancing and screaming the familiar lyrics while she felt Ron’s hand lightly on her hip. She reflexively scooted away, wrapping the sheet further around her. There was only one thing that could make this moment worse...

“Hermione?” Harry was wiping the sleep from his eyes, yet he still managed to look and sound so utterly disappointed. 

She couldn’t stand it — the hopefulness she felt emanating from Ron, the looks coming from Harry, and the utter bizarreness of the rest of the Seventh Year Gryffindor boys. She yanked the sheet from Ron’s bed and ran to her dorm, keeping her head down to avoid looking at anyone as she went.

She tried to ignore the whispers, instead focusing on the sole task of getting to her room. When she finally made it, she slid down the door, sitting with her knees bent. She was crying - big ugly tears as the memories from the night before - of what she had done replayed like some sort of nightmare.

“Hermione?” Parvati came over and tentatively sat next to her. “What happened?”

“I’m an idiot,” she got out between sniffles, her head buried in her knees. She wondered just how ridiculous she looked, wrapped in Quidditch sheets and sobbing.

“Did someone do this to you?” Lavender yawned, coming to her other side.

Hermione managed to snort amidst the sobs. “Oh no - this was all me. Just screwed up me…”

She’d slept with Ron Weasley. Ron - who had crushed on her since Third Year, who whispered in her ear as he drove into her about how long he’d _wanted_ this. And all she had done was use him, like a fucking sex toy.

“I slept with Ron Weasley,” she admitted aloud, feeling a fresh wave of tears overtake her.

“Oh,” Parvati uttered, her hand rubbing against Hermione’s arm tentatively. “I’m sure it wasn’t - that bad?”

Hermione shook her head. “I just - made such a mess. I don’t even like him and Harry’s face…”

Lavender grabbed her hand on her other side, “It’s going to be okay - alright?”

Hermione kept her face firmly in her knees, shaking as a thought hit her. “Oh God. Draco’s going to hear...fuck.” 

She could vaguely hear the pair whispering something over her, but she couldn’t quite make out the specifics over her constant sobbing.

“Hermione,” Lavender squeezed her shoulder, “it’s going to be okay. I know it seems - bleak now. But we’re going to get you cleaned up and dressed. And I’m sure Harry will get over himself and Draco will understand.”

Hermione slowly lifted her head up, sniffling. “Why are you being so nice? I’ve been such a bitch - I broke your stupid chair.”

Lavender laughed. “It’s just a stupid chair, Hermione.”

Hermione let her roommates take care of her, feeling endless gratitude for her friendship with the two witches.

* * *

When she finally made it out of her dorm, Herimone’s carefully selected hoodie did nothing to hide her from the whispers and stares. Apparently, running through the boys’ dormitories in only a flimsy sheet was something worth talking about.

There was only one person she wanted to see though - one person she felt some need to explain herself to. 

She shuffled over to the Black Lake, watching Draco strum his guitar. She closed her eyes and wished for a time turner to take her back 24 hours. Finally working up the courage, she walked over to where he sat facing the lake, a passive expression on his face.

“Hi, Draco,” she said quietly.

“Granger,” he responded, continuing to strum a vaguely familiar song.

She didn’t miss his use of her last name. “What are you playing?”

He looked at her momentarily, his eyes flashing in anger before returning to focus on his guitar. “‘Where did you sleep last night’ by Nirvana.”

She sucked in a deep breath, feeling like she’d been slapped. “Can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” He refused to look at her, beating his pick against the strings in what felt like an attempt to drown her out.

“I’m - I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she started, “I was - lonely-”

“Oh, so when you feel lonely you what? Find yourself a Gryffindor to cuddle up with?” He was seething, anger coming off of him in waves.

“No!” She took a deep breath. “It’s not - I’ve never done anything like that before. Why are you so angry anyways?”

He shook his head, his fingers hitting the wrong chord. “I guess there’s no reason for me to be angry, is there?” The words were harsh, his tone cold.

She didn’t know what he meant precisely, but she felt as though her insides were turning in on themselves all the same. She wanted her friend - she wanted the boy who gave her a CD on the train and dragged her around the music store in Hogsmeade.

“What do I have to say? For you not to be mad at me?” She bit on her bottom lip nervously. “I miss my friend.” 

He finally stopped playing and turned his gaze on her. It wasn’t anger she realized, it was hurt. “Tell me,” he drawled, “was it good?”

She felt blood creep into her cheeks. “Fuck you Malfoy.” She ran inside, tears once more flowing freely.

She was on her way to the Gryffindor rooftop terrace when she crashed into Harry.

“Oh - hey,” she mumbled, wiping her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a slight smile.

She felt the floodgates open. “No, Harry. I’m a fucking mess. Alright?”

He pulled her to him and she felt momentary relief at the familiar feeling. After months of strained conversation and stilted smiles, she relaxed into his embrace.

After a minute he pulled apart from her. “Do you see now? Why I’ve been worried?”

It was like something snapped in her, and all of his patronizing comments replayed in her mind. “Is this what this is? You telling me ‘you were right’?”

“You’re out of control, Hermione,” he chastised her.

She laughed, in spite of the tears and the anger. “Seriously Harry? I’m ‘out of control’? What - because I made a few poor decisions? I’ve been through fucking hell. You have no fucking idea what my life is like - what goes through my head every single fucking day.”

“What the fuck Hermione?” he fumed. “You think you’re the only person here going through something? The only one with a sob story? Get over yourself! This is fucking Hogwarts - we’re all going through shit. Just because something bad happened to you doesn’t mean you can just shit on the rest of us.”

“Get out of my way,” she demanded, pushing past him and through the threshold of the terrace.

She wordlessly demanded a cigarette from Blaise Zabini and sat on the concrete pillar. She let the feel of the tobacco calm her, watching the smoke slowly leave her lips before flitting away in the breeze.

She felt a presence next to her and turned to see Pansy Parkinson smoking a joint, eyeing her carefully.

“What?” Hermione bit at the girl.

Pansy raised a single eyebrow, her lip turned up. “It’s just fascinating.” 

“What is?”

“I’ve never watched someone break down so completely,” Pansy said, pressing the joint to her lips and inhaling with utmost care. “It’s kind of poetic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that happened...
> 
> A huge thank you as always to by Alpha, [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) and Beta, [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan).
> 
> I love any and all comments/thoughts/emotions/GIFs. You can also find me posting questionable things on [Tumblr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).


	6. Karma Police

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even if you're not listening around, I do suggest having this week's playlist on standby. [Click here for the Chapter 6 playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2shSXAmGZmqrt3q9X3xyhP?si=CR8URCqkSfaSphIYRjaNlA).

_ February 8, 1998 _

Draco huffed and a particularly horrendous note spewed from his Gibson. He stared at his tattered notebook, opened to a painfully blank page.

He sat on a black sofa in front of the roaring fire within the Slytherin Common room. Since the incident-that-shall-remain-nameless, he was avoiding  _ her _ , which meant he couldn’t safely play guitar or write music by the Black Lake, out of fear  _ she _ might show up.

Not that she seemed to be making any effort to speak to him. They shared every class, yet she still managed to maintain a constant three-meter radius from him at all times, refusing to even look at him. Which he was absolutely fine with.

He wasn’t the only one avoiding the witch. He caught Harry staring daggers at Hermione in the Great Hall. And Weasley himself kept giving her hurt looks, so Draco was left to assume that Hermione was either avoiding the redhead or had let him down. 

It didn’t matter; Draco reminded himself when he caught his mind wandering in her direction. Hermione had only entered his life five months earlier; he would be fine without her. In fact, they’d all be graduating in four months, at which point he would never see the witch again, which was just fine with him.

“That sounds horrifying.” Pansy pressed her hands to her temples, her eyes shutting dramatically.

“It’s not  _ that _ bad,” Draco mumbled, himself wincing as he missed a chord.

“What’s up with you?” Pansy sat on the other side of the couch, pulling out some embroidery floss and knotting pieces together.

“I just - can’t write. No matter what I do; it just comes out terrible,” he explained, putting his guitar on a conjured stand. He placed his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples.

“Alright, let’s hear something,” she suggested.

He looked at her carefully. “Are you sure? It’s — quite terrible.”

“Yes. I usually like your terrible stuff - just, let’s hear it.” She made a beckoning motion.

He exhaled and grabbed his guitar, playing a series of power chords and began screaming:

_ It isn’t much _

_ It doesn’t matter _

_ Here I am _

_ Missing a ladder _

_ I shouldn’t have done it _

_ I did it anyways _

_ You live your life _

_ I go my way _

“Oh gosh.” Pansy pressed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. “Please stop.”

“Told you. I just can’t seem to write anything.” He noticed it about a week earlier; every time he sat down to write his mind would go blank. His short screamo song was basically just him randomly writing stupid phrases.

“Wow. I wonder why,” Pansy said in a particularly patronizing tone.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl. When she kept giving him a pointed look he finally said, “Just spit it out, Pans.”

“I’m just saying, it’s quite  _ interesting  _ timing - you stop spending time with Granger and suddenly you can no longer write.” She shrugged, focusing once more on the grey, black and green strands she was twisting together.

Draco laughed. “That’s ridiculous.” There was  _ no way _ his songwriting skill was in any way tied to Hermione Granger. Any correlation between that and his friendship with Granger was simply a coincidence - not indicative of causation. He was sure of it.

“Really? You wanna go there? Fine.” She put the string down and faced him. “You’ve been  _ happy _ this year. Not to say you were  _ miserable _ in the past or anything but you were never actually  _ happy _ . And then she showed up; and maybe you didn't realize it but you talked about her  _ constantly. _ ”

Someone, likely Theo, started blasting The Clash’s “London Calling” from the boombox. Pansy took a breath. “We’d be at dinner and you’d mention how  _ Granger  _ happened to mention some song that had to do with roast beef. And at some point you were talking about  _ Hermione _ and her ridiculous taste in music. At first, I was annoyed; and to be honest, a little jealous that she was taking my best friend.

“But then I realized  _ you _ were different — and not in a bad way. You were doing what you’d always wanted; you were  _ writing _ and playing more. She was good for you,” she finished, looking at him expectantly.

“I didn’t realize I talked about her that much,” he said quietly. “I don’t understand - you were always warning me off her…”

She shook her head. “I was warning you to be  _ careful _ . Because I was worried about what would happen. So — now tell me, what precisely happened between the two of you?”

Draco looked at her incredulously. “She slept with Ron Weasley!”

“Yes...I’m fairly certain everyone in Magical Britain knows that. Is that the only reason why you two aren’t talking?” 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Well,  _ that _ and we had a fight.”

“So make up with her.” Pansy shrugged, as though it were the obvious solution.

“Are you kidding me? She slept with Ron fucking Weasley!” he shouted, waving off a few third years who had suddenly turned their way.

“Alright, so forgiving her bad taste, what precisely does her sleeping with Weasley have to do with you?” 

“What does it-? We - there’s been - something.” He exhaled through his nose, shutting his eyes and placing his thumb and forefinger over his temples. He wasn’t quite sure how she conned him into talking about this.

“We kissed - on New Year’s. And we’re always holding hands and - I just - I always assumed that she cared about me.” He felt his anger start to dissipate as he said the words aloud.

“And you think she doesn’t?” Pansy frowned.

Draco shook his head. “I don’t know - all I know is I would  _ never _ have slept with someone else.”

“And so since you would never do it, it’s therefore unforgivable?” Pansy was giving him an incredulous look.

“Well, when you put it that way, you’re kind of making me look like an ass,” he drawled out.

“If the shoe fits.” She shrugged, unbothered. “So you mentioned you fought - what happened? Did she refuse to apologize?”

He tried to recall the specifics of their fight, but the memory of her muttering ‘Fuck you, Malfoy’ and walking away stuck to the forefront of his mind.

“She was trying to tell me it was a mistake I think,” Draco mumbled, frowning.

“Alright, so she came to you, wanting to explain herself, and then what?” Pansy urged him.

He huffed, “Well, then I basically called her a slut.”

“Hmm.” Pansy made a point to look thoughtful, bringing her hand to her chin in a rather dramatic gesture. “Is it possible that you were upset, and rather than  _ listen _ to her or give her the opportunity to explain her side, you just took it out on her?”

“Maybe.” He narrowed his eyes at the witch.

“Well, maybe you should fix it then?” Pansy suggested.

“How?” 

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “How do  _ you _ do  _ anything _ ?”

* * *

_ February 10, 1998 _

Hermione found herself sitting outside the Black Lake, watching the frozen ice for cracks with Our Lady Peace’s “Superman’s Dead” keeping her company. She had avoided the familiar spot since her and Draco’s rather volatile argument, but after two weeks without word from Draco or Harry, she felt the need for the solace the lake could bring her.

She pulled a cigarette out of her pocket; another lovely thing she’d picked up since the  _ incident _ . She lit the Marlboro Light and closed her eyes, letting herself imagine for only a moment that perhaps Draco was there with her.

“Hermione?” She froze. Harry’s voice was far away and tentative. She turned and opened her eyes, watching him wave at her from a distance.

She had spent considerable time replaying her argument with Harry and was still not quite sure what precisely had happened. She felt he was being painfully patronizing, but his words at the end - the assumption that she had become entirely self-involved — stung like hell. Largely because she could admit there was an ounce of truth in the sentiment.

“Harry,” she responded with a tight nod. She debated momentarily whether she should put out the cigarette, deciding in the end she would likely need the vice for this conversation.

“How have you been?” he asked evenly.

“Alright.”

“Look.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

Her hand stopped in its tracks a few inches from her lips. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have been so harsh — it’s just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make excuses.” He looked so frazzled.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve been - somewhere else this year.” She swallowed and her gaze shifted to the snow at her feet. “I knew something was going on with you and I should have said something. I was a bad best friend.”

“Maybe we can agree we were both crappy best friends?” He gave her his signature half-smile and she felt instantly better. She threw her cigarette unceremoniously on the ground and wrapped her arms around him.

“I missed you so much, Harry,” she told him, clinging to him for dear life. She felt tears spring from her eyes, though for once they weren’t born from sadness.

“Me too, ‘Mione.” She let him go, rubbing her cheeks.

“So tell me, what’s been happening with you?” Hermione asked, watching him carefully.

He looked scared, his eyes darting back and forth and his hands fidgeting in his pockets. His mouth would move and stop, as if he couldn’t figure out what to say.

She cast a quick spell on the ground, removing the snow and warming the dirt beneath.

The pair sat and Harry finally answered.

“It started last summer - I started noticing people in a different way,” he furrowed his brows, appearing to work himself up to say the next part. “I don’t think I like girls.”

She processed the statement, frowning slightly as she tried to put the pieces together - his odd behavior throughout the year and his anger with her. “So you think you might be gay?”

He shrugged, adjusting his glasses. “I think so? I tried to talk to my dad about it and he said to take time to think about it - like it was a choice or something.” He looked at the ground, trying to hide the hurt that was clear in his eyes.

Hermione felt her heart break a little for her friend. “But how do  _ you _ feel Harry?” She grabbed his hand.

His gaze shifted to her face, a sad smile forming. “I think - I mean,” he swallowed, “I know I’m gay. ”

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it? That you know who you are and what you want.” She desperately wanted to be supportive - to say the right thing. She wished there was a book called ‘what to say when your best friend comes out of the closet’ but even if such a thing did exist, she didn’t have time to read it.

He shrugged once more. “I mean, yeah. I guess I’m just worried about what everyone will think. I mean, my own  _ father _ , who I had always taken to be reasonably progressive, basically asked me to think about it.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t understand?” Hermione suggested. “I’m not saying that excuses what he said, but maybe if you explain to him how you feel, he’ll come around. And for the rest of the world? Anyone who doesn’t love you regardless of your sexual orientation doesn’t deserve you in their life.”

He smiled more broadly, his eyes watering. “Thanks, Hermione. I should have talked to you sooner.”

She punched him in the arm. “Yes, you should have.”

They sat in companionable silence, enjoying the cloudless winter day.

“So, do you want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Harry eventually started.

Her gaze shifted to her fingers. “What precisely do you mean?”

He swallowed. “I mean - there was obviously something going on with you and Draco. And then you - you know - with Ron. And then there’s the drugs and-”

“Alright.” She put her hand up, feeling her cheeks redden. 

“I’m not sure what it is with me and Draco if I’m being honest. I care about him, more than I should probably, given who he is and what’s expected of him.”

She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek before continuing, “He’s been - an amazing friend this year, until he made me feel like shit.”

“So then...what happened the night of the Extravaganza?” he asked. She appreciated that he wasn’t just jumping to conclusions or making her feel like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“I mean, I  _ was _ on drugs. But — I think I was just really lonely. Draco had left early because he didn’t like me taking E; which I found and still do find patronizing and hypocritical. And I think I just — enjoyed the way Ron looked at me.” She shrugged. Saying the words out loud made her feel somehow worse, and she was reminded that she had  _ still _ yet to speak with Ron since that night.

“And Draco was mad at you?” Harry asked. Hermione wondered if he had heard Draco’s side of the story at all, though Harry’s face revealed nothing.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “He had some - less than friendly words for me.”

“And?” Harry asked expectantly.

“And what?” Hermione shook her head in confusion.

“And how do you feel?” Harry explained.

She bit her bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “I feel everything. I’m so angry at myself for what I did - but I’m also angry at Draco for not giving me a chance to explain or apologize. And then I think — why should I have to apologize? He had no claim on me. But then, I think about how  _ I _ would feel if he were to sleep with someone else and…” she trailed off.

Harry gave her an encouraging nod and she continued, “Harry - I know you haven’t been supportive of me and Draco’s friendship this year but,” she swallowed, “I’m scared. I like him more than I should - and there are moments where he looks at me where I’m sure he likes me too. But it can’t end well, can it? That’s why you’ve been so cautionary, isn’t it?” The realization hit her as she spoke.

He nodded. “Draco has a lot of family baggage he drags around with him. I was worried you would get caught in it.”

She nodded sadly but Harry surprised her when he continued, “But I don’t think that matters. I’ve watched both of you - and I think if you care for each other it may be worth it - especially after watching you two be miserable over the last couple of weeks.”

“If he ever speaks to me again,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you both can get past this.”

She gave him her best attempt at a smile. “Thanks, Harry. I really missed you.”

He nodded. “There’s one more thing,” he said reluctantly.

Hermione felt her face pale. “It’s about Ron,” he started, “you need to talk to him.”

“I know.” She exhaled. “It’s just — everytime I see him, I feel so terrible. I mean — I  _ knew _ how he felt about me and still…” 

She had caught Ron looking her way from time to time, always so full of regret and melancholy. 

“Well,” Harry cleared his throat, “he’s playing video games in the common room now. So if you want to do it now…”

She glared at the boy, playfully punching his shoulder. “Fine.”

* * *

“Hi Ron.” Hermione swallowed, sitting on the recliner next to him. He kept playing his game, only the clench of his shoulders indicated he was aware of her presence. Harry was somewhere else in the room, hovering nearby. He claimed he was there for support, but the cynical part of Hermione couldn’t help but think he was there to make sure she actually  _ talked _ to Ron.

“I, uh.” She felt irrationally nervous. “I’m sorry.”

He froze and paused his game, finally turning to her. He managed to look both hurt and angry at the same time, and Hermione was hit with another wave of guilt.

“I, er, knew how you felt about me. And I took advantage of you. And then I just - ran off. I’m really sorry Ron. You’re a great guy and I think of you as a friend but…” she trailed off, her gaze falling to a spot on the wall behind him.

“Alright,” he responded. She risked looking in his direction but he had returned to playing his video game. His face and neck had gone completely red and Hermione managed to feel yet  _ more _ horrible.

“Alright,” she echoed and got up, feeling as though she’d lost someone who could have been a good friend.

“How’d it go?” Harry asked when she approached.

“Well, I don’t think he has a crush on me anymore.”

* * *

_ February 15, 1998 _

Hermione was sitting with Harry at lunch in the Great Hall, enjoying the quasi-return to normalcy when an actual  _ Eagle _ dropped a small package onto her lap.

“What is it?” Harry asked, though the turn of the corner of his lip led Hermione to believe he had some idea.

“I don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes at him and opened the package.

It was a cassette - and she suddenly recalled Draco purchasing a package of them back in November. Her gaze shifted to the Slytherin table and she caught Draco watching her, a tentative smile on his face.

She removed the tape from the case; the A side was labeled “I’m Sorry” and the B side “I miss you”

She felt her stomach lurch and wished she had her cassette player on her. She noticed the paper within the case and read the list of songs:

**A Tracks**

  1. “Galapagos” by Smashing Pumpkins
  2. “Nutshell” by Alice in Chains
  3. “The Universal” by Blur
  4. “In The Meantime” by Spacehog



**B Tracks**

  1. “Halcyon and On and On” by Orbital
  2. “Everlong” by Foo Fighters
  3. “Say Yes” by Elliott Smith
  4. “Linger” by The Cranberries



Her finger hovered over the last song, recalling their dance on New Year’s Eve. It had meant something to her, been significant in a way she was afraid to admit to herself. But now she knew she wasn’t alone.

“Do you need to borrow this?” Harry handed her an old cassette Walkman. 

She squinted her eyes. “You knew about this?”

He gave her a sheepish grin and handed her the player.

She sat in the Great Hall listening to the tape, the last of her lunch sitting forgotten. She was vaguely aware of her classmates moving around her; a squeeze of her shoulder and a wave thrown her way. But she stayed firmly in place, focused solely on the music.

Every song reminded her of a moment - of a second spent with Draco, listening to music or just sitting contentedly by the Black Lake while he wrote his songs. She imagined him in front of his boombox, carefully recording each song. She wondered how long he spent curating the tape - meticulously finding which lyrics would convey the message he wanted to send her.

At some point she noticed the hall was virtually empty other than a few Puffs. And  _ him _ . Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table across the way, frozen like she was, just watching her.

She flipped the tape, starting the B side and she laughed, recalling the song from the beginning of “Hackers”.  _ That _ had been a perfect day - walking through the record store, being able to see a glimpse of Draco Malfoy at his most pure. She had felt so safe curled into him during the movie, so comfortable.

_ I miss you _ . That was what he had labeled the B side - filled with songs of memory and longing. When “Say Yes” came on she looked up, catching his gaze. She’d never paid attention to the words before - but she assumed he did. 

He looked nervous, his hands buried in his hair and his teeth biting on his lower lip. They were alone now — everyone else in their common rooms or otherwise enjoying their Saturday.

She stood as “Linger” started playing and started walking in Draco’s direction, the music still blaring in her ears. He jolted up, practically jogging to meet her halfway. 

When they reached, he was saying something.

She pulled off her headphones. “What?” she asked.

He exhaled and chuckled, “Did you like it?”

She nodded slightly, overcome with that familiar feeling of being on the precipice. “I need you to tell me. I can’t-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, grabbing her hands. She could still hear the Cranberries softly coming from the Walkman.

He continued, “I - I was jealous. I thought there was something between us-”

“There was.” She nodded. “I’m sorry too. I was lost and stupid and…” she trailed off, looking down at her feet.

“Me too,” he told her, moving his hand to raise her chin. “I should have told you months ago - or at the least after New Year’s but I was-”

“Scared?” she suggested. The song ended and the sound of static whispered through her ear. 

He looked at the player thoughtfully and flipped the tape, playing “Galapagos”.

“I’m terrified,” he told her.

“Me too,” she whispered.

They stood still for a few minutes, the soft murmur of the Smashing Pumpkins the only sound between them.

_ Too late to turn back now _

_ I’m running out of sound _

_ And I am changing, changing _

_ And if we died right now _

_ This fool you love somehow is here with you _

She pressed up on her toes and kissed him. He sighed into her mouth, his hands pushing into her hair and pulling her towards him. The song shifted to “Nutshell” but they didn’t move, their lips moving urgently, each trying to say to the other what words and music couldn’t express.

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure  _ how _ she managed to convince herself their kiss at New Year’s was ‘friendly’. This kiss, the feel of his hands rubbing up and down her sides, was anything but. She could feel her own tears sliding down her cheeks, vaguely taste the salt water mixed with tobacco and a bit of onion from lunch.

“Are you alright?” he asked, pressing his head to hers.

She nodded. “I’m just so - relieved? Happy?”

He exhaled. “Me too.” And he kissed her again, “The Universal” now playing quietly:  _ Yes, it really, really, really could happen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for alpha/beta support!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr, posting what 90s theme posters/banners for this fic, @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I love/appreciate any and all comments/reviews/feelings!


	7. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly recommend the playlist ([here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3cMieVOhRGsPxbORcSiyZv?si=zaD_JtbKSYi1og2u3iD3GQ) or on my [Tumlbr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/)) - or at the very least have it on standby.
> 
> There is a TW for this chapter - consult end notes or send me a message if you have questions.

_ March 7, 1998 _

The Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match was typically a boisterous affair - and this year was no exception. With both Harry and Draco graduating, there was a lot of masculine pride riding on the outcome of the game.

Hermione felt quite torn. On the one hand, she was a loyal Gryffindor and Harry’s best friend. However, she and Draco had started seeing each other romantically, ever since he had gifted her the mixtape. Both boys insisted they were entitled to her loyalty, which was why she had decided to sit with the Hufflepuffs, who were mostly tripping on shrooms and trying to find the snitch.

“Hermione!” Susan called out from the other side of Ernie. “Can you help us?”

“Er—” Hermione looked to where Susan and Hannah were huddled together “—sure?”

She moved past Justin and Ernie (who were convinced that  _ they _ had in fact caught the Snitch) to sit with the two girls who appeared to be actually watching the game.

“Alright, we need you to settle a debate.” The girls both looked quite serious, though Hannah’s lip was quirking slightly.

“Uh huh…” Hermione wasn’t sure where this was going but had a bad feeling regardless.

The pair looked to the pitch and then back at her. “Which one is, you know, bigger?”

Hermione sputtered and Susan and Hannah broke into a torrent of laughter. “Excuse me?”

“Malfoy or Potter! Since they’re playing for bragging rights...Who  _ really _ has something to brag about?” Hannah whispered the last part, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

If they weren’t so wasted, Hermione might have been offended. But as it was, she felt reasonably confident the girls meant no harm.

“I wouldn’t know,” she told them finally with a slight smile.

Hermione had, thankfully, never seen Harry’s penis, and she and Draco were taking things slow. She was enjoying the languid pace of their courtship; rather than go on typical dates, they were exploring the castle together. He took her to the Slytherin Common Rooms where she enjoyed watching Theo and Draco bicker about music while she and Pansy looked on and rolled their eyes. She in turn showed Draco how to get to the kitchens one night when they were stoned, introducing him to the Hogwarts bound house elves.

It was just like before but also entirely different. They continued to sit by the Black Lake and talk about music - but now she sat between his legs, with his chin draped over her shoulder. And now, when they had time between classes, he would drag her into an alcove to make out. 

But that was all they had done - and Hermione was okay with that, enjoying the simple thrill of being able to kiss him and hold his hand without the pervading doubt that she was alone in how she felt. Because she knew what they were to each other, and for the time being they weren’t focusing on what would happen when they graduated. Rather, they were focusing on the here and now.

“Well, if you don’t  _ know _ , you must have a theory,” Hannah asked, lifting her eyebrows provocatively.

Hermione’s lip twitched, because she  _ did _ have a theory but there was absolutely no way she was going to say it out loud.

A shout came over the crowd from the Slytherin section and she whipped her head, both disappointed and relieved to realize it was simply a Slytherin goal - or was it a quaffle shot? She watched Draco flying opposite Harry, diligently searching for the Snitch, looking perfectly at ease 50 meters in the air.

He caught her gaze and threw a dramatic air kiss her way - which she reluctantly caught with a roll of her eyes. 

This was what she had become - one half of a sappy teenage love story. 

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ten minutes later, Harry caught the Snitch, to many groans and cheers throughout the stands. Hermione worked her way to the pitch, watching Harry and Draco exchange a sweaty half hug of sorts. 

Draco caught sight of her and jogged to meet her halfway.

“Sorry you lost,” she told him, making a face when he leaned in to kiss her.

“What?” He frowned.

“You stink.” She squeezed her nose for effect.

He smirked, pushing her into the railing she stood in front of and pressing his lips hard against hers. She tried to resist - after all, she could  _ feel _ the sweat coming off his hair and dripping onto her shoulders, but he also looked quite fit in his Quidditch uniform.

She gripped his hair, ignoring the triumphant chuckle he elicited in response, yanking his face closer to her own. 

“Blech—” They jumped, turning to see Harry making a puking gesture beside them. “Some of us are trying to live our lives without being blinded by - this.”

“Potter - you won fair and square. The least you can let me do is kiss my girl in peace,” Draco pleaded.

“Whatever, Malfoy. Good game.” He gave them a nod and headed off.

“So, where were we?” Draco asked.

“ _ You _ were going to take a shower.” She pushed him off of her, walking towards the growing crowd. She turned just as she was about to enter the castle, seeing Draco frozen with his eyes on her. She sent him a quick wink and walked in, a wide grin on her face,

* * *

_ March 17, 1998 _

Seamus always insisted on celebrating St. Patrick's day, and for Seventh Year he went all out - transforming the Gryffindor Rooftop Terrace into a sea of green lights with bits of gold dangling about.

Hermione had no idea how Seamus convinced the Professors to let the party happen - all she knew was it was ‘taken care of’ and frankly she was relieved not to know the details. However he managed it, the Sixth and Seventh years from all houses were crowded on the too small terrace, with Neville blasting Jurassic 5 from the speakers.

She and Draco sat on what she now thought of as ‘their’ bit of concrete, laughing as Justin tripped over himself trying to dance with Luna Lovegood. Luna, of course, was blissfully ignorant of the man’s plight, swaying her hips to a rhythm that likely existed only in her head, her floor length floral skirt shifting as she moved.

Hermione drank her Guinness, her head leaning against Draco’s shoulder and their hands entwined.

“This is nice,” she told him softly, watching her classmates. Harry was helping Ron get up the courage to ask Hannah to dance - while Hannah looked on with Susan and giggled. Hermione smiled at the scene, happy Ron had moved on; and judging by Hannah’s giggles and the way she snuck glances at the redhead, the feelings were likely reciprocated.

“There are so many ‘lasts’,” Draco responded finally, his tone conveying both a sense of nostalgia and a sense of loss. Hermione understood it — that feeling that they didn’t appreciate what they had until it was almost over. How many times had she sat in the Common Room celebrating St. Patrick’s day and felt it a chore? Or something she simply did to appease Seamus?

“You’re feeling nostalgic?” she asked, looking up at Draco.

He gave her a sad smile, squeezing her hand. “I guess with only a few months left, we’re going to start running out of lasts.”

“Ah.” Hermione smiled. “But you’re missing something - once we’ve sorted through all the lasts we get to start a whole new set of  _ firsts _ .”

He chuckled lightly into her hair but she could feel the tension emanating off of him. She knew the pressure from his father was getting to him. She tried not to bring it up, knowing the topic was always on his mind; the question of what happens to him after Graduation. But it was inevitable their conversation headed in that direction from time to time.

As if on cue, a loud ringing emanated from Draco’s pocket. He cast a quick  _ Engorgio  _ and a bulky cell phone sat in his hand. He stared at it like it was a bomb that would go off, and in a way it felt like it was.

“I still can’t believe your father bribed someone to have cell towers installed at Hogwarts,” Hermione commented, breaking the pervasive silence.

Draco swallowed and shut the phone without answering, returning it to its smaller state. “You know Lucius Malfoy. Owls are too slow for him apparently.”

The phone had been a ‘gift’ a month earlier - but it had seemed less of a present and more of simply another means for his father to exhibit control over Draco’s life. 

Theo approached them with his bleached hair adorned with cyan blue tips. He unceremoniously sat on the other side of Draco, forcing the pair to scoot down.

“Well, hello to you too, Theo,” Draco drawled.

Theo pulled out a cigarette. “This music sucks.”

Draco nodded his agreement, sticking his hand out to bum a smoke. “Will there be any more ad hoc dances or renditions of Gangsta’s Paradise?” he asked Hermione.

She smirked. “Even better. I’m told there will be karaoke.”

“Fuck,” Theo cried out, blowing a puff of smoke past his lips. “I should just leave. This can’t be good for my constitution.”

Hermione laughed. “I’m fairly certain listening to some ‘bad’ music for one night isn’t going to hurt you.”

Theo turned to her, eyes narrowed. “You don’t know that Granger.”

“Okay.” Hermione rolled her eyes, now more or less used to the melodrama that was Theo Nott. The boy was in a similar predicament as Draco - facing a daunting future in which the legacy of all Notts was for some reason laid solely on his shoulders. Similar to Draco, he seemed utterly defeated by the possibility.

It still didn’t make sense to Hermione how these boys, who so clearly rebelled against the established order, felt compelled to follow antiquated tradition. She had once tried to argue with Draco that perhaps now was the time to change — make things  _ better _ , so his legacy wouldn’t be the same as his father’s. He had simply given her a sad smile, pushed a stray curl behind her ear and kissed her, telling her how much he appreciated her optimism.

It was a somewhat infuriating and patronizing gesture, but she also acknowledged that she didn’t know precisely what he was going through.

“It’s starting,” Draco commented and they watched with a combination of amusement and trepidation as Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom conjured microphones and stood on the tiny makeshift stage.

They faced each other and did some sort of strange dance with their shoulders to the beat, before beginning a colorful rendition of “California Love”.

“This is horrifying,” Theo spoke, his mouth gaping and his eyes focused on the spectacle, as though he was physically incapable of looking away.

“I think you mean brave.” Hermione giggled, feeling another bout of nostalgia hit her. She could have sworn she saw the corner of Theo’s lip quirk just slightly, a hint of amusement at the Gryffindors’ antics.

“Hermione!” Lavender and Parvati came running towards her, a pleading look in their eyes.

“No,” she responded automatically, assuming they would ask her to join them in karaoke.

Lavender pouted, her eyes big and round. “Please? We’re singing Four Non Blondes - and we need you! It’s our last Saint Patrick’s day.” There was something about the request that filled her with warmth - that even though she had never been particularly close to Pavarti and Lavender, there was still a connection — something meaningful that she was a part of.

She watched her roommates bounce in excitement and turned to Draco with a teasing grin. “It’s the last Saint Patrick’s day.”

He gave her a chaste kiss and let go of her hand. “Don’t worry - I won’t let Theo throw tomatoes at you.”

She shook her head but couldn’t help the small smile that graced her lips when she looked back at him.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Seventh Year Gryffindor ladies!” Seamus shouted from the bar, his massive green hat magically stuck to his head. He grinned at them, clearly drunk.

“This one’s for you, Seamus.” Lavender sent him an air kiss which he failed to catch, much to everyone’s amusement.

Hermione stood between the two girls, holding their hands. She wished she had drunk more, or had done  _ something _ to alleviate the knot in her stomach over the idea of singing in public.

But then she looked to her left and saw Draco sitting right where she left him. His gaze was fixed on her and rather than feel self-conscious, she felt beautiful. He was looking at her like she was something truly spectacular and it filled her with a warmth she couldn’t describe.

“We’ve got this,” Parvati whispered to her, squeezing her hand.

The guitar played over the speaker and the words to “What’s up?” magically appeared in front of her:

> _ Twenty-five years and my life is still _
> 
> _ I’m trying to get up that great big hill of hope _
> 
> _ For a destination _

The sixth and seventh years shouted their approval, and Hermione smiled, feeling a rush of adrenaline. There was dancing, and Harry along with a few Ravenclaw boys had pulled out their wands, lighting the tips and swaying left to right. 

It was a magnificent sight - the green and gold of the roof, all of her friends in one place. She felt her roommates clammy hands grasp hers, their eyes meeting and similar looks of wonder and nostalgia marking them. It was a moment she’d always remember, something that mattered and reminded her she was truly a part of something.

> _ And I say, Hey, yeah, yeah _
> 
> _ Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, _
> 
> _ I said, Hey, What’s going on? _

She’d cling to these moments in the days ahead, when the world would no longer feel so hopeful and magical.

* * *

_ March 18, 1998 _

Hermione was late to breakfast the next morning, the result of waiting until the absolute last minute to finish a Charms essay. When she entered the Great Hall, the typically upbeat and jovial atmosphere was quiet and subdued. She frowned, freezing in her tracks and trying to identify what was going on.

The Hufflepuffs were the most noticeably affected — all of whom appeared puffy faced and red eyed. She saw Ernie MacMillan visibly crying, being comforted by a downtrodden Susan Bones.

Hermione took the open seat next to Harry, whose face was its own mask of sorrow. “What happened?” she asked. Harry was about to answer when Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Attention students.” All murmuring within the hall stopped. “As many of you have likely heard, tragedy befell our school last night. Justin Finch-Fletchley’s body was found on the castle grounds earlier this morning.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop at the words. She inhaled sharply - unable to control the intake of oxygen. She looked around somewhat frantically, seeing her fellow Gryffindors sitting somberly, tears running rampant. Her gaze shifted to the Slytherin table where Draco was somehow even paler than usual. Theo pounded his fist against the table and Pansy had her arm around him, trying to comfort the boy.

Dumbledore continued, but his words were muffled, like there was a curtain between her and the world around her. She heard Harry sniffle, could vaguely make out the words ‘too young’ from the Headmaster’s mouth. Her eyes landed on the Hufflepuffs once more — their grief was palpable. She didn’t know how they did it — how they sat with the gawkers and the well wishers.

“What happened?” she asked Harry once Dumbledore had finished speaking, the hall once more a dull murmur. 

“Overdose. Heroine.” Harry swallowed, his fork pushing the scrambled eggs around his plate.

Hermione felt a ringing in her ears, recalling all the times they had laughed at Justin’s antics or rolled their eyes at one of his more ridiculous stories. Did they enable this? Were they complicit in his death?

Seamus walked in, his eyes red and hair disheveled, a far cry from the boisterous drunk from the night before. He took a seat at the empty end of the Gryffindor table, grabbing a piece of toast and looking down, attempting to go unnoticed.

Before long, Ernie marched to the Gryffindor table, flanked by Terry Boot and Hannah Abbott. He approached Seamus and slammed his fist against the table, quieting the Great Hall instantly.

Hermione wondered for a fleeting moment why the Professors weren’t intervening, but that was the Hogwarts way apparently.

“You fucking shit,” Ernie started, “this is your fault.”

“Sorry,” Seamus mumbled without looking up.

Harry got up to head their way and Hermione followed. She noticed the Seventh Years from other houses doing the same - all warily approaching the confrontation.

“THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY? You little shit-” 

“Stop.” Draco approached, placing his hand on Ernie’s shoulder.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Ernie snapped, glaring at the blonde.

“It’s not Seamus’ fault,” Hermione spoke up, her voice raspy.

“Where do you think Justin got the fucking drugs, Granger?” 

“It’s not.” She shook her head, sniffling. “It’s  _ all _ of our faults — okay? We all did this. So don’t yell at Seamus, alright? Justin was your best friend; should I yell at you for not saying anything? Maybe. But then  _ I _ never said anything either. None of us did.”

Ernie looked torn, his eyes watering and gaze shifting between Hermione and Seamus. 

She felt Draco sidle up to her, his comforting hand flat against her back. She wanted to curl into him, press herself close and never leave.

This was nothing like when her mum died. They could’ve done something —  _ should’ve _ recognized Justin’s behavior escalating. She didn’t know about the heroin, but someone  _ must have _ ; that kind of drug use left scars, literal and figurative. 

She felt a guilt she couldn’t describe, imagining Justin in place of her mother, his dead body lying sprawled on the castle grounds. She shook her head, trying to displace the image from her mind, leaning back to remind herself Draco was there, inches from her. She wasn’t alone.

Ernie ended up making a noise she couldn’t describe, something between a scream and a cry. It was haunting to watch the boy break down, his fellow Puffs grabbing his arms and pulling him out of the Great Hall.

Seamus continued to sit, crushing his toast into pieces, looking utterly lost and alone. Hermione sat with him and grabbed his left hand, not saying a word but just letting Seamus know she was there.

* * *

All Seventh Year classes were cancelled and each house was required to sit for an hour long ‘discussion’ with their head of house. Hermione felt nothing as Professor McGonagall said all of the things people say when a teenager tragically dies; telling them Hogwarts would provide counseling to anyone who needed it and there would be a ‘crackdown’ on drug use, blah blah blah.

Hogwarts, for all its notoriety as the school of the British wizarding elite, lacked the infrastructure to effectively police its students, relying on Prefects and and a Squib caretaker to enforce antiquated rules from a bygone era.

Harry managed to organize a candlelight vigil for the Seventh Years beside the Black Lake. Hermione arrived with the Gryffindors just past sundown, accepting an unlit candle from Michael Corner and taking the open seat next to Draco.

He was softly plucking his guitar, wearing his familiar leather jacket and the beanie she made him, even though the weather didn’t call for it. She wondered if it brought him comfort - like if wearing them reminded him he had people who cared.

It was quiet, soft murmurs and light dings from Draco’s Gibson the only sounds other than the occasional noise from the nearby forest. Finally, Harry cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for coming,” he started, “I, uh, I know I wasn’t in Justin’s house.” Harry turned towards where the Hufflepuffs sat. “But I liked him. I considered him a friend.”

Everyone was watching him, huddled together with their unlit candles.

“I remember when we were in Fourth Year,” Harry said, “Justin came back from the Easter Holidays with a mullet and when I asked what was up with his hair, he told me his sister was sick, so he did it to make her smile.” Harry swallowed, looking down at his candle and wordlessly lighting it.

“Justin had the most ridiculous stories,” Theo Nott spoke, his cyan blue tips lit against the darkness. “I remember when he told me about going to Vegas when he was 16. He somehow made it backstage at a strip club, and rather than kick him out, the strippers took him out that night - insisting he stick with them.” Theo and the rest of the Seventh Years gave a subdued chuckle.

“I didn’t believe him at first - but - no joke - the fucker had pictures.” Theo closed his eyes, tears clearly streaming down his cheeks. Pansy and Daphne sat next to him, each holding a hand in comfort.

Theo’s candle lit and so it went - with each Seventh Year telling their own story about Justin. Some of them were innocuous - remembering something he did in class or a witty comeback to a teacher. The Hufflepuffs stories were heart wrenching - stories of a boy who was somehow both lost and present, entirely unhinged yet had a depth well beyond his eighteen years. Hermione’s story was simple, just a memory of Justin smiling at just the right moment, in such a way that it reminded her in one of her darker moments the world was still good.

All the candles were lit except for Draco’s. Rather than tell a story, Draco handed his candle to Hermione and grabbed his guitar, wearing a nervous but determined look on his face as he began strumming a familiar melody. Hermione felt her breath hitch when she recognized the lyrics to “Angel”, feeling a new wave of tears overcome her.

> _ “Spend all your time waiting _
> 
> _ For that second chance _
> 
> _ For a break that would make it okay _
> 
> _ There's always some reason _
> 
> _ To feel not good enough _
> 
> _ And it's hard, at the end of the day” _

Hermione watched him sing, playing an acoustic version of the Sarah McLachlan song, his voice soft and melodic. He closed his eyes, but she caught his own tears - the way his fingers would shake momentarily. It was painful - but also beautiful. They were altogether, every Seventh Year regardless of house or clique. 

Hermione could see that - in the midst of their grief, Harry had brought them together for a reason. It was cathartic, talking about Justin out loud, feeling permission to cry without being made to feel less. She was vaguely aware of their younger classmates watching from afar - the Professors giving them the space to grieve as they needed to.

> _ “You're in the arms of the angel _
> 
> _ May you find some comfort here” _

Draco strummed the last note, putting his guitar on its case and pulling Hermione close to him. They sat there as a group, wordlessly watching the candles float on their own, a sea of light reminding them that they were not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: A character overedoses; the actual overdose/death is not shown but a substantial part of this chapter relates to the characters reactions.
> 
> Thank you as always to [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) and [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for the alpha/beta assist.
> 
> **About the song...** Art3misiA and I spent an impressive amount of time listening to music to find the perfect song for Draco to play at the end. It shifted multiple times throughout the writing of this story...but she discovered that Sarah McLachlan wrote "Angel" about a keyboardist for Smashing Pumpkins who overdosed. Given the amount of Smashing Pumpkins in this story (and it was listening to Smashing Pumpkins that gifted me this plot bunny in the first place) it was fitting. We then found the chilling acoustic version that's on spotify that felt just right. So...in case anyone was wondering... 
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions. I'm also on Tumblr, posting random sci-fi crap and crack-fic, @[canttouchthis87.](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/)


	8. London Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist is on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7tTxvzrJ9zxGPymQAhbm54) or can be found on my [Tumblr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).

_ April 8, 1998 _

Spring was bittersweet for the Seventh Years; there was the growing excitement over Graduation, but also anxiety over NEWTS and the knowledge that their time at Hogwarts was nearing its final end.

Draco distinctly remembered ‘hating’ school not long ago, thinking of how excited he would be to graduate. But now, as he sat in the library watching Hermione write notes on Arithmancy and frantically consult her timetables, he couldn’t imagine possibly longing for such a thing.

The precipice was growing nearer and nearer - that moment where he would have to decide whether to take the easy path or not. The problem was, it was no longer clear which was which.

As a child, before he knew better and had idolized his father, he dreamt of taking on his father’s role as head of family - he’d accompany Lucius to work and meetings and imagine himself sitting behind the mahogany desk, drafting memos and ordering underlings around.

Now, beyond the simple fact that even the idea of such work bored him to tears, that life seemed inherently flawed - since  _ she _ could never be in it. He knew it was irrational to consider such decisions with Hermione in mind - but he couldn’t help it. Somehow, in such a short time, he felt they had become inextricably linked.

He had tried to indirectly broach the subject with his father on a phone call, asking if perhaps the requirement for marrying a Pureblood was really more of a suggestion. The resulting tantrum from Lucius assured him that there was no room for compromise. 

There was no choice. This was his responsibility.

But it felt inherently  _ wrong.  _

“Draco.” Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Have you solved question 34?”

He looked down at his NEWTS study workbook Hermione had made for him as a ‘present’. He resolved to have a chat with her after NEWTS about the difference between a gift and homework — but in the meantime, had agreed to follow her regimen and guides. Even if it was a bit much. 

“Er… sorry. I’m on 9,” he replied with a sheepish grin, his eyes apologetic.

She frowned, her eyes shining in disappointment. “NEWTS are only a month away! You have to take this seriously.” 

He felt properly chastised but couldn’t help smiling at the way her hair shot to the side when she huffed and how her ears turned red when she was angry at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m just preoccupied,” he told her honestly.

She deflated slightly, appearing sympathetic. “Try not to think about it.” 

That was typically  _ his _ line whenever the subject of his father and life  _ after _ Hogwarts came up.

The issue was, since Justin died, Draco felt his mortality in a new way. In the back of his mind, he had always imagined that perhaps he could complete his “duties” in the short term, but at some point would be able to live the life  _ he _ wanted. But such an opportunity wasn’t guaranteed - and if he only had so much time to live, he didn’t want to live it as  _ that _ person.

But he currently didn’t see any alternatives. For all of Hermione’s rants on change, and finding a way to maintain the Malfoy legacy while allowing Draco to have the future he wanted, it simply didn’t seem possible.

So, he was stuck; either he would give up his name and everything associated with it, or he’d give up his own future.

She looked at him seriously with furrowed brows. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He did, but he also didn’t. So he grabbed her hand and offered her a slight smile. “Maybe later. Let’s solve this problem.”

She seemed skeptical but nodded, letting him give her a chaste kiss before returning to the task at hand.

* * *

_ April 12, 1998 _

Hermione and Draco remained at Hogwarts for the Easter Holidays, both anxious to spend whatever remaining time they had in school, together. Even if neither quite said the words aloud.

Hermione, much to Draco’s horror, thought the best use of their time was to study  _ even more _ . She was slowly driving herself crazy, reminding Draco more and more of the studious bookworm from years past. He sat with her in the Gryffindor Common Room, indulging her desire for order and listening to her rants:

“Why did you let me have fun all year Draco! I should have been studying and-”

He pressed his lips to hers, cutting off her stream of consciousness. He felt her soften, the tension easing.

“You’ll do great, Hermione,” he told her earnestly. 

“I just feel like there’s so much material and I need to know all of it…” she trailed off. He noticed the death grip she had on her quill, the way her eye twitched.

“You need a break,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “We have 25 more minutes of studying.  _ Then _ we can take a 45 minute break. But we need to eat something - ideally something with carbs in order to-”

He cut her off once more, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t mean a break right  _ now _ , I mean a break from studying in general. I have an idea.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

He smirked, amused by the way her eyes narrowed and her upper body shifted slightly in his direction. “Blur is playing in Muggle London tomorrow night. I think we should go.”

She laughed. “You want to - what? Sneak out of Hogwarts and go to a Muggle concert  _ in London _ ? How will we get out of here? How will we get tickets?”

“Hermione.” He gave her a chastising look. “I’m a Malfoy. Getting the tickets will be no problem. And besides… Sirius gave Harry and I the Marauders Map; it’s easy to get out of Hogwarts.”

He gave her a pleading look, grabbing her hand and gently tracing circles into her palm.

She kept her eyes squinted but he could see her resolve begin to weaken. He scooted his chair closer, drawing her to him. “Hermione.” He looked her in the eye. “Life is short. Please - go to this concert with me.”

She bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes, nodding. “Fine.”

He grinned brightly, kissing her quickly. “You won’t regret it.”

“But.” She put up a finger. “Until then, we follow my study schedule. No pulling me off track with your shenanigans. Got it? And when we get back — same thing.”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing. She returned to her notebook, focused once more on her NEWT preparations.

“Thank you,” he told her quietly. Her only response was a slight quirk of her lips and Draco took a moment to just watch her, holding onto the moment.

* * *

_ April 13, 1998 _

The pub turned music venue was packed — a crowd of black and grey with random bursts of color. There were piercings, tattoos and hair sticking out in the black painted room with posters and other clippings strewn throughout. 

Draco felt Hermione’s grip on his hand tighten. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Her eyes were wide and darting all over. She wore a pair of loose fitting jeans and a black tank top with a flannel atop. Her hair had grown out since she cut it over the summer, falling in waves to her shoulders.

“I’ve never been to a Muggle bar,” she admitted sheepishly.

He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “I’ve only gone a couple of times with Sirius. Don’t worry. It’s basically the same as a magical one just — no magic.”

“So, what do we do?” she asked. He wanted to laugh, remembering how comfortable she was at  _ Nocturnal Nightmare _ in Diagon Alley, but then again, they had been with their entire class and it was far less — eclectic — than The Powerhaus.

“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested, leading her to the bar.

It took nearly ten minutes to get a drink, the pair fighting throngs of Muggles. By the time they walked away with a beer, Blur was on stage, playing “Charmless Man”. Draco and Hermione stood behind the dance floor, standing side by side and somewhat awkwardly watching the band.

“You know,” Hermione shouted so he could hear him, “I don’t really know Blur.”

He gave her a look of sheer horror. “How did I not know this?” 

She rolled her eyes, elbowing him. “I don’t know.”

“So?” he asked. She gave him a look of confusion so he continued, “What do you think?”

She turned to the stage, watching thoughtfully, as though the question were truly serious. Then again, given Draco’s love of music, she likely  _ was _ taking the matter seriously. 

It was one of the things he’d grown to love about her; the way she grew to care for music like he did. But also how she was always honest. When she stuck her tongue out at the Nine Inch Nails album, while it felt like a punch to his gut, it was still a reminder that she wouldn’t change her tastes for him.

It meant that when he played a song and her eyes lit up or she felt a sudden need to kiss him, it was  _ real _ . It wasn’t some act like the girls he’d sometimes see over the summer holidays, who would pretend to share his tastes.

She was real - authentic in a way he didn’t know he wanted until he’d found her.

The song shifted to “She’s So High” and Hermione turned back to him, apparently having made some determination.

“They’re alright.” She pressed her lips to his ear to be heard without shouting.

His jaw fell. “Just - alright?”

She shrugged, not at all bothered. “I’m going to get us more drinks.” 

He watched her smoothly push her way to the front of the bar and effectively flirt with the female bartender to quickly get a couple of shots. By the time she returned, “Girls and Boys” was playing.

“I know this!” she shouted, downing her shot.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course you do.”

“Do you want to dance?” She had that light in her eye, that familiar glint when she wanted to try something new. 

He readily agreed, throwing out their plastic shot cups and letting her pull him onto the dance floor in time for “Song 2” to start playing. 

They followed the crowd, waving their hands in the air and shifting left to right along with the music. Hermione swung her hair and hips, completely unconcerned with how she looked.

Draco moved a bit side to side but mostly just watched her. That is, until she pulled him closer when “This Is a Low” started playing and insisted on treating it like a slow song.

“You’ve been watching me a lot tonight,” she murmured in his ear as she shifted them left to right.

He exhaled, smiling softly against her hair, not surprised she noticed. “I just don’t want to miss a minute of this - being here, with you.”

“But I want you here with me, right now,” she moved back slightly to force him to make eye contact with her.

“I am.”

“But you’re not... it’s like you’re making a movie so that you can watch it one day, rather than simply living for the moment it’s happening,” she explained.

He internally admitted she was right, as she typically was. Her gaze stayed fixed on him but she didn’t push, just letting them sway and enjoy the music, ignoring the other concert goers surrounding them. The song shifted to “Sing”, but they didn’t move, just continuing to sway, enjoying the music and the moment.

Well, at least  _ Draco _ was enjoying the music - though the way Hermione hummed made him suspect she was warming up to it.

It was perfect in a way. The room may have been sweltering hot and smelled of sweat and stale beer, but being there with her and one of his favorite bands was, for lack of a better word, magical.

A lyric played at just that moment,  _ So what’s the worth in all of this? _

And suddenly, everything became perfectly clear. All of his doubt and questions - it was as though he were seeing his own life in a different light.

“I love you,” he said without preamble, enjoying the way her eyes went wide with panic before a smile crossed her face.

“I - I…” She blinked, trailing off, and he kissed her, completely unbothered with her response or lack thereof. It didn’t matter, because he knew how  _ he  _ felt — how she made him feel. He realized he couldn’t simply do as his father wished; that his name wasn’t worth anything. 

Nothing was worth anything without her.

He knew the realization should have terrified him, that as a seventeen year old boy, he shouldn’t want to feel tied down to a person. But he wasn’t scared; in fact, he felt a sense of serenity that had eluded him that entire year. 

He would upend the world for this witch. He’d sacrifice any wealth, live on the streets, beg fucking Weasley for shelter if he had to, if it meant getting to see her smile, kiss her lips.

She pushed herself against him, like she was trying to express her feelings through their kiss since she didn’t quite have the words in that moment. 

They separated just as “The Universal” started playing. 

“I forgot this was Blur,” she whispered into his ear. 

He smirked, thinking about the mixtape he made her, and all the other moments in between. He remembered when she shot him in laser tag and the way her eyes shone at her success. He recalled the look on her face when he unplugged her CD player on the train, but also the way she grew more peaceful when she heard “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness”. 

He had watched her for so much of that year, the way she’d laugh at nothing in particular but because of a particular lyric in her ear. The way she fought with him over the meaning of “1979” - insisting it was more than a poppy melody. As the song came to an end, he thought about that dark night by the lake in March, and how much comfort he took in having her beside him.

“I love you,” he told her once more. “I’m not going to do what my father has asked.”

“What?” she shouted, though it wasn’t clear if it was in shock or simply to be heard. They were frozen, no longer dancing, just standing. clasping each other's elbows in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

“There’s no point to it. It’s all about money and a name - but none of those mean anything to me. Not if I’m not free to love you.” His grin grew wider.

She bit the side of her mouth, her eyes boring into his. There was a painful moment, where he grew suddenly insecure and wondered if he’d said too much.

But she nodded and punched him in the arm. “It’s about time.”

“Anything else?” he asked, drawing her to him once more and pressing his lips to her ear.

“Of course I love you, you idiot,” she shouted at him, before kissing him once more.

He laughed into her mouth as his hands moved to grasp her face. “You’re So Great” started playing and while the other dancers moved around them, he kept kissing her, willing the moment to last forever.

* * *

They snuck back in through the trapdoor in Honeydukes at around one am, trying their best to stumble through the corridors without making too much noise.

Draco stopped her at one point, pressing her against the wall and kissing her senselessly.

“Draco!” she whispered, pushing him away, “it’s late! You’re going to get us in trouble!”

They were both tipsy, feeling the rush of adrenaline from the concert and sneaking back into the castle. 

“I don’t want this night to end,” he admitted, his words brushing against her cheek and neck.

She nodded. “I have an idea.”

He frowned, thinking about some of the other ideas she’d had that year, like setting up an elaborate prank in the Great Hall for Halloween. “What?”

“Come on.” She yanked his hand, pulling him along the corridors. They ran as quietly as they could, breezing past frowning portraits and a few suits of armor. The stairs quietly tilted to accommodate them and for a fleeting moment Draco wondered if the castle was on their side, willing them to break curfew and sneak about.

She was dragging past the Charms and Ancient Runes classrooms until they reached the door to the Astronomy Tower. She opened it, a brisk breeze hitting him as they crossed the threshold.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she remarked, pressing her hands over her arms to keep warm. He quickly cast a warming spell but pulled her to him just the same, wrapping his arms around her. She melted into him, her hair, now frizzy from their night out, blowing haphazardly in the wind.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, tenderly kissing her neck.

She leaned back into him, pushing his hands against her waist and looking up into the night sky, her eyes full of wonder.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m going to miss this view. At home, you can barely see the stars...” she trailed off, squeezing his hands where they pressed against her.

“Hmmm…” he mumbled into her hair, finding it hard to focus on the night sky rather than her.

She shifted, turning around to look at him. “I’m curious, what made you change your mind? About, you know, the future?”

He searched for the right words, assuming ‘it was just a feeling’ was insufficient. 

“I finally realized my family name and perhaps a modicum of power didn’t actually mean anything.” 

She nodded, looking somewhat relieved and kissed him again, and Draco suddenly wished he had his epiphany months earlier. “Draco…” she mumbled, separating herself and biting her cheek.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I just - I want you tonight.” 

“You’re sure?” he asked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

They had discussed taking it slow, stealing kisses and allowing hands to wander from time to time. He had viewed what they had as some fragile thing — where a small misstep could cause it all to come toppling down.

He swallowed, taking in the lust in her eyes and the slight turn of her lips. She looked nervous - though it wasn’t clear to him if the nerves were related to spending the night with him or waiting for his response.

“Your place or mine?” he whispered back, relishing the chuckle that emerged from her throat.

It took them ten minutes to make it to the Slytherin dorms, both of them stopping to press the other into a wall or staircase on the way. He had half a mind to pull her behind a tapestry and take her right there.

When they finally reached the Seventh Year Slytherin dorm, thankfully empty due to the holiday, he paused, putting on “By My Side” by INXS and letting the song wash over them before he moved her to the bed.

“I love you,” he reminded her once more, promising himself he’d never let himself forget the way her eyes sparkled at that moment.

* * *

_ April 23, 1998 _

“I’m not going to play, Harry,” Hermione insisted, for the eighth time.

“You don’t have a choice. It’s the  _ last _ magical Capture the Flag game we’ll ever have here at Hogwarts,” he pointed out with a familiar tone of longing and nostalgia. 

Magical Capture the Flag was yet another ridiculous tradition at Hogwarts - one that involved the entire school. Each house would get a quadrant and hide their flag. The goal was to capture all of the other houses flags while keeping yours in hand.

It actually started as a Charms exercise, and at one point, students were required to cast a certain number of Charms before they would be permitted to capture one of their opponents flags.

Over the years though, the game had evolved. Now, each house set up a series of intricate obstacles, which then required the other houses to use magic to get through. It was sufficient enough of an exercise that the Professors could call it educational, while being fun enough that the students talked about it all year.

Hermione, however, typically got caught early on in the game and would end up sitting out. To prevent that from happening, she had decided to simply not play that year and instead go to the library which was considered no-man's-land.

“Hermione,” Harry pleaded, literally getting on his knees and pressing his hands together. “Think about everything we’ve been through. All of the trials and tribulations.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Like.” He squinted his eyes, appearing deep in thought. “Oh! Remember when we did that group project for DADA in third year?”

“That wasn’t a trial or tribulation!” Hermione pointed out.

“Oh.” He frowned and shook his head. “Well, regardless, we’ve been through a lot. Remember when we first met on the train? Remember what a nerd you were?” He nudged her in the shoulder.

She glared at him. “For the record, I’m still a nerd.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you’re so much more than that.”

She smiled at him, feeling that familiar lump in her throat. “You’re just trying to get me all nostalgic and warm so I agree to play Capture the Flag. Even though I’ll get caught right away.”

He smirked. “Is it working.”

“...Yes,” she confirmed, shaking her head as he dragged her to the Divination classroom where they had hidden the flag, explaining the intricate strategy he and Ron had developed along the way.

The classroom was now a war room of sorts. Ron stood with a group of First and Second years, assigning specific tasks. Neville was working with the third years on their cutting and levitation charms, ensuring they were prepared to defend the flag at all costs.

Harry pinned a small lion to her shirt, which lit up indicating she was still ‘alive’ so to speak. A specific charm cast on a person by a member of another House would make them ‘dead’ and no longer eligible to play.

“Where do you need me?” she asked Harry.

He looked quite serious, more serious than she recalled him ever being about his studies. But then again, this  _ was _ Capture the Flag.

His eyes lit up. “I want you to go after the Slytherin flag.”

She protested, “No! The Slytherin flag is impossible.” It was true; they nearly always won. Largely because Draco was some sort of ninja when it came to Capture the Flag. As she watched Harry’s grin turn maniacal, she realized  _ this _ was precisely the point.

“You want me to seduce Draco Malfoy and force him out of the game?” she deduced.

He put his hands in the air. “I would  _ never _ suggest such a thing.  _ But _ , if you could perhaps find some way to get Draco out of the game, I’m sure it would  _ only _ be good for Gryffindor.”

She shook her head. “Fine! But - only because it’s you asking. And keep in mind, he’ll probably just tag me out before I even see him. So don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her into a hug, which she felt was overkill for the situation.

“Yeah, whatever…” she trailed off, giving him a salute when the loud  _ buzz _ indicated the game had started.

She made her way to the Slytherin quadrant, trying her best to be stealthy. She passed a group of Ravenclaws along the way and had to hide in an alcove to avoid getting caught.

She ran into Seamus and Dean at the edge of the Potions corridor.

“Did Harry send you guys to get the Slytherin’s flag too?” she whispered to them.

They looked at each other before Dean responded, “Er, I believe he sent  _ us _ to get the flag and  _ you _ to distract — them.” Dean let off a rather immature chuckle at the end.

She huffed. “Fine. Did you guys at least find the flag? Or Draco?” 

Seamus pulled his wand out, conjuring a map of the Slytherin quadrant and pointing to one of the long disused Potions classrooms. They proceeded to give Hermione a long and drawn out explanation of everything they learned about the Slytherin defense. Once again, Hermione was amazed at how the Gryffindor boys, typically prone to smoking and troublemaking, managed to get their act together for this one game a year.

They split up and Hermione headed to scope out the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, where some the Slytherin defenders were congregated. She caught a glimpse of Theo barking orders, his faux blonde and blue hair hidden under a camouflaged cap. 

She looked down when she heard a soft  _ beep _ , watching the lion on her chest fade to black. She turned, not surprised to see Draco’s signature smirk and his wand pointed at her.

“This is exactly what I told Harry would happen,” she said to him, her shoulders falling.

He put his arm around her, safe since she was no longer in play. “All’s fair in love and Capture the Flag.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek and run off but she grabbed his hand.

“Well, now that I’m out, I have nothing to do.” She looked up at him, biting her lower lip seductively, pressing her hand to the waistband of his camouflage sweatpants.

He looked so genuinely conflicted. She watched with amusement as he warred with himself, a look of determination overtaking him.

“No. This is the last Capture the Flag game. We’ve won three years in a row... it’s too important,” he answered, though he made no effort to push her off.

She pressed her hand into his pants, brushing her lips to his neck. “I promise,” she whispered, “I’ll make it worth your while.

His jaw went wide and he pressed his groin into her hand. “My dorm?” he whispered.

She nodded, grabbing his hand and urging Draco to ignore the shouts from his fellow Slytherins.

The Gryffindors won for the first time since they were Second Years, though Draco admitted - it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for alphabeting!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.  
> I appreciate any and all comment/reviews/emotions/GIFs...


	9. Bittersweet Symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 playlist is on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ZWWNSWlCTVzVIEZLWEUQp?si=F8TGy72aQ4qn8nOhPMRivw&utm_source=copy-link) and my [Tumblr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).

_ May 10, 1998 _

They were one week from NEWTS and Hermione was perpetually on edge, constantly snapping at anyone who came near her.

“Seamus - for the last time, I’m  _ not _ going to help you learn Fourth Year Charms. Perhaps had you been studying, instead of smoking up or whatever you were doing back then, this wouldn’t be a problem,” she snapped when the boy in question attempted to sweet talk her.

“It’s the return of Urkel,” Ron mumbled to Neville from the Common Room recliners, playing “Golden Eye” on the Nintendo 64.

It was an old nickname she earned in First Year, when she’d shown up having read all her books and talking endlessly about school. When she was  _ particularly _ swotty, her classmates would squeak “Did I do that?” in a perfect impression of Urkel from “Family Matters”. Suffice to say, Hermione was not a fan of the nickname and happily outgrew it by Third Year.

“What did you say?” Hermione whipped her head in their direction, her shrill voice carrying to where they sat.

Ron went red. “Er, nothing.”

She held her chin high. “That’s what I thought.”

It said a lot about how much she and Ron had recovered since ‘the incident’ that they could now banter or communicate without either of them stuttering or running from the room. Harry informed her that Ron was now full on smitten with Hannah Abbott and the pair were set to go to the Formal together after NEWTS. Hermione was quite happy for the boy and was glad to put that moment of her life behind her.

A crowd of Fourth Years came in through the portrait door, gossiping about the newest episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with absolutely no respect for the Fifth and Seventh Years studying for OWLS and NEWTS, whose entire futures were on the line.

She closed her books in a huff and stalked out, planning to go to the library to get some peace and quiet.

Her plans went out the door when she peered through a window and saw Draco playing his guitar by the lake. It was raining outside but he had set up a magical awning of sorts to keep dry. She couldn’t see his features precisely but knew he wouldn’t typically risk letting his precious Gibson get wet.

She made her way to the Black Lake, transfiguring a spare quill into an Umbrella on the way. She found Draco, frowning as he strummed at an unfamiliar tune.

She took a seat beneath the awning. She typically loved just watching him play; the way his fingers so deftly strummed the strings and his face would scrunch in concentration. He tried to teach her guitar one fateful day over Easter Break, but she couldn’t get her left hand to cooperate. 

“What is that?” she asked after a few minutes, still unable to quite grasp the tune.

He frowned, looking at her nervously. “It’s something I wrote.” 

“Really?” she asked, wide eyed, “that was quite good.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” she insisted, “please - play it again.” 

He nodded and complied, returning to the now familiar tune. 

It was beautiful - somehow both comforting and haunting. It felt like her year in a way; full of the most remarkable wonder but also the greatest tragedy. She watched him continue to play, feeling her eyes water at the melody when he started singing.

> _ “This is not my Ev-ery-thing, _
> 
> _ I told her twice if at all _
> 
> _ They came, once, to bring _
> 
> _ The silence we called to fall” _

When he finished, he looked up at her, completely exposed. “So?” He swallowed.

She struggled to find the words. “That was perfect,” she whispered, “you’re so talented, Draco.”

He shook his head, a self-deprecating grin covering his face. “I’ve been working on this all year. It’s hard.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re  _ good _ . You can do something others only dream of. And you  _ love _ it. Do you know what a gift that is?”

She could have gone on for hours, waxing poetic about just how phenomenal his song was, just how many emotional beats it hit within her. But she was fairly certain by the faraway look in his eyes that he had something else on his mind.

“What’s up, Malfoy?” she asked him playfully.

He gave her a small smirk, though the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gently placed the guitar back in its case, casting multiple spells to ensure it stayed dry, which Hermione felt was overkill but knew not to say anything.

“I’m nervous - about my father,” he admitted.

“Have you heard anything since his last letter?” she asked. Following Draco’s epiphany about his future in April, he had sent his father a lengthy missive explaining he did not plan to take on the mantle of head of house upon graduation. Lucius had responded with a rather cold few sentences, explaining that he had no choice and more or less dismissing Draco’s letter.

Draco had since sent a series of follow ups — expressing his reasoning in further detail, even telling him about Hermione in an effort to elicit a response. But so far, there was nothing. Draco’s cell phone had remained blissfully silent, but he lived in fear of the other shoe dropping so to speak.

“Nothing,” he confirmed, cracking his neck. “It’s - frustrating. I’m fine being disinherited or being yelled at. But I’m just worried; what if he has something up his sleeve? What if there’s some way he plans to make it so I have no choice?”

“Well, we’ll just stop him,” she said, her voice overly chipper.

“I’m worried it won’t be so simple.” He gave her a sad smile, pulling her onto his lap and resting his chin on her shoulder.

She sighed into him, feeling her own anxiety and tension melt away at the familiar contact.

“You know, it’s oddly peaceful out here in the rain,” she remarked, closing her eyes and focusing on the  _ drip drip _ of the rain landing on the awning and castle grounds.

“How have you been? It’s been a while,” he remarked, his breath sending goosebumps across her neck. 

It really  _ hadn’t _ been that long - maybe a few days. But before NEWTS had taken over her life, they had become used to seeing each other daily. “It’s like - there’s not enough time,” she bemoaned, “I just want to do well.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist, snuggling up to her. “You’re going to do great. You know that, right?” he insisted.

She shrugged. Rationally, she knew he was right. Unlike the slackers in her own house she had been studying steadily the last seven years. In the past year, where she had allowed herself far more leeway and pursued non-scholastic ventures, she had still managed to ace nearly all her assignments.

But still - there was a nagging uncertainty — that she had somehow missed something. She was haunted by dreams of sleeping through an exam or finding out she had never attended a course which was required for her career.

It was all ludicrous of course; not only had she attended all of her classes, but she had  _ yet _ to establish what she wanted to do after graduation — something which Professor McGonagall constantly berated her on.

Perhaps a year ago, she would have had a laundry list of jobs she wanted, ranging from being a solicitor to working for the MInistry. Now, though, as she sat on Draco’s lap and considered more than just the work but also what made her  _ happy _ , she just didn’t know.

“What are you going to do? After you graduate?” she asked him, trying to keep any trepidation out of her voice.

She felt him tense momentarily behind her. “I’m not sure. I know what I want to do…” he trailed off.

“Tell me.” She pinched his arm. He made a show of acting hurt but laughed it off.

“I’m worried you’ll tell me it’s impractical,” he admitted, but continued regardless, “I want to travel — see bands, write more. Maybe start playing myself — or at least learn more about the music industry. I think.” he paused, his voice sounding far more self-assured than when he started. “I think I want music to always be in my life - whether I’m playing it or simply working at a label or… I dunno. There are liaisons between the Muggle and magical music industries so that could be something.”

She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. “I think that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?” He turned his head towards her, appearing surprised.

She nodded. “Honestly? I’m not sure what I’m going to do. But I see you and your music — and it just wouldn’t be right if you didn’t give it a chance.” She smiled, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he asked.

“Not today.” She smirked, allowing herself a moment of peace.

* * *

_ May 18, 1998 _

NEWTS were finally upon them. Hermione wasn’t the only Seventh Year sitting quietly at breakfast, staring at a pile of eggs and toast but feeling physically incapable of consuming even a bite. Her gaze kept shifting to her notebook, taking in the various formulas and silently testing herself in advance of the Arithmancy exam.

“I don’t get what you have to be worried about,” Lavender said, attempting to eat a croissant, though she seemed to be crushing it into tiny crumbs.

“I’m going to be sick,” Hermione responded unhelpfully. “These tests determine the rest of our lives, right? I mean, how is that reasonable? What if I have a bad day? Or — what if they sit me next to Terry Boot? I can’t stand his cologne! Can you imagine? I’d probably just turn in my test—”

“Hermione.” Parvati grabbed her hand. “FIrst of all, it  _ doesn’t _ determine the rest of your life. And if for some crazy reason you don't do incredibly well, you can always take them next year. Second, you only share  _ one  _ class with Terry Boot — Defense. Chances are, you won’t be seated next to him.”

She knew all of this, rationally, but hearing the words aloud helped. She nodded. “Thanks.”

She ventured to take a small bite of her toast, willing herself the ability to eat, when Draco sat to her left.

“You’re sitting at the Gryffindor table,” she said, for lack of anything of substance.

“Oh, really? Sorry I was looking for my girlfriend - meant to go to Hufflepu-”

She pressed her lips to his to stop the incessant rambling, though as soon as he responded she was overtaken with the fear she’d somehow puke in his mouth and pushed him away.

“Er.” He frowned at her.

“NEWTS jitters,” she explained.

“Ah, of course, I got you something for that.” He took out a small box wrapped in brown paper and handed it to her.

Her eyes lit up. “But I didn’t get you anything!”

He shook his head, laughing at her panic. “I don’t need anything - open it.”

She gave out an entirely out of character shriek when she saw the mixtape. He labelled one side  _ Thank You  _ and the other  _ I Love You _ . She frowned. “Why the ‘Thank You’?”

He shrugged. “I mean, for everything really. But when I was making this mixtape I was thinking about how supportive you’ve been of me and music. I feel like a lot of people think it’s just a waste of time but you don’t and I appreciate that.”

She swallowed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the gift as well as the looming threat of NEWTS. She cleared her throat and grabbed the piece of paper tucked in the cassette case, looking at the list of songs. 

**A Side: Thank you**

  1. “Slow Divers” by Jane’s Addiction
  2. “Breaking the Girl” by Red Hot Chili Peppers
  3. “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins
  4. “Coming up Roses” by Elliott Smith



**B Side: I Love You**

  1. “All Apologies” by Nirvana
  2. “Burden in my Hand” by Soundgarden
  3. “Day Glo” by Hazel
  4. “Beer” by Reel Big Fish



“You put in Reel Big Fish!”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re — growing on me.”

“You put in Reel Big Fish! I can’t believe there’s ska in this... I have to tell Theo-” 

He put his hand over her mouth. “You will do no such thing. The point of this playlist is to make you happy. That song, whether it has any substance or not, will make you happy.”

She pulled his hand off of her mouth, holding it tight. “Well, I love it. Thank you.”

“And you’re going to do amazing on your NEWTs.” He gave her a chaste kiss and wandered back to the Slytherin table.

“I hate you,” Lavender moaned from across the table. “That was easily the most sickeningly cute thing I’ve ever seen. And I’m so painfully single.”

Hermione laughed. “Who would’ve thought, right?”

* * *

_ May 24, 1998 _

Draco was waiting outside the Great Hall for Hermione, shifting nervously in his black faded jeans and concert tee. He wore a black tie over the shirt - thus making his outfit “Formal”. 

Hermione approached, flanked by her insipid roommates who gave her twin squeals before wandering off. She looked at them fondly before turning her attention to him, granting Draco a warm smile.

“You look beautiful,” he told her, his eyes scanning over the black dress and matching Converse high tops. She wore some make-up - likely the influence of her roommates. Her hair had returned to its former glory, curling in all directions.

“You look handsome.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him, linking her elbow in his.

The Great Hall had been completely transformed. The tables had been vanished, and in their stead small, rounds had been set up along the outside of the Hall. A small stage was set up on one side, where Professor Flitwick had appointed himself the official DJ. He played Hanson’s “MMMBop” much to Draco’s annoyance.

“How are you feeling? With NEWTS over?” he asked Hermione, guiding her to a table where Theo and Pansy were sitting, appearing quite bored.

“Relieved and scared I think. I’m glad it’s over but I can’t get my mind to stop going over every question and answer… actually, maybe you can help? Your potion — was it-”

He cut her off with a kiss, feeling her lips melt into his as his hand grabbed a chunk of her hair.

“No,” he told her with a playful smile.

She huffed. “Fine.”

“The music sucks,” Theo remarked unhelpfully as he and Hermione sat, a cup of punch magically appearing in front of each of them. 

“You know, not everyone likes the same music,” Hermione pointed out.

Theo scoffed. “That doesn’t mean people should play the  _ wrong _ music.”

“I think that’s precisely what that means.” Pansy rolled her eyes and smacked Theo in the head. 

Theo darted his eyes left to right and surreptitiously pulled out a flask, quickly adding a good amount of liquor into his and Pansy’s punch. Hermione pushed her cup towards him and he huffed but added the liquor to hers and Draco’s as well.

“Well, cheers.” Draco lifted his cup and the four clacked their drinks. He winced at the shocking sweetness of the punch against the firewhiskey that wasn’t really meant to be mixed.

They didn’t talk about anything of substance but it was memorable all the same. Hermione laughed at Pansy’s quips, even when they were at Draco’s expense. Theo continued to top off their juice with Firewhiskey, the flask magically refilling itself on occasion.

“Guys.” Harry came rushing to their table, frazzled and out of breath. “It’s time.”

“Are we really doing this?” Pansy bemoaned, but couldn’t keep the grin from her face.

“Yes we are Parkinson - get up!” Harry grabbed her hand, pulling her to where the other Seventh Years had congregated.

“I can’t believe we’re still doing this,” Draco whispered to Hermione who laughed.

“I’m not going to lie - I look forward to it every year.” She squeezed his hand as they joined the circle.

“This next song is requested by Harry Potter and the Seventh Year graduating class,” Flitwich squeaked with a  _ Sonorous _ , playing MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This”.

It started at their first formal - Neville did the moonwalk to the hit and the First Years all came together to support him. Since then, they insisted the song be played each year.

Neville moved to the center of the circle - moving his hands like he was carrying a ball and throwing it Seamus’ way. Seamus jumped to the center and attempted to beatbox for a moment before pointing his fingers at Hermione.

Draco pushed her to the center, waving his arms left to right with the others, a wide grin on his face.

She narrowed her eyes at him but complied, moving to the center of the circle and doing the ‘lawn mower’, eventually dragging Lavender and Parvati to the middle and reclaiming her place next to him on the outside.

“You’re terrible,” she whispered to him, sliding her hand down the back pocket of his jeans.

He tried to focus on the progressively more ridiculous dance moves of his fellow Seventh Years but was distracted by the way she kept putting pressure on his arse.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he whispered, placing his lips strategically on the bit of skin behind her ear. 

She bit the bottom of her lip, about to say something when Pansy smacked them both in the back of the head.

“A time and a place kids,” she reprimanded them with a “tut tut”.

They stayed on the dance floor, joining the rest of the school in dancing to the Macarena. It was fun and simple, in a way that had felt impossible in certain moments this year. A few sixth year boys got into a fight over a girl, which Harry and Neville had to break up.

Hermione insisted on slow dancing to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”, revealing she knew every single lyric.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” he told her with an amused smirk.

“It’s a beautiful song Draco,” she quipped, dramatically spinning herself with his hand. He chuckled, dipping her low and pressing her close to him.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she asked, a look of nostalgia in her eyes.

He nodded, kissing her and letting himself relax into her, trying to ignore Celine Dion.

“You’re being rather quiet tonight,” she commented as the song started to fade out.

He shrugged. “Just the usual.” He didn’t need to elaborate; they’d spent enough time debating the situation with his father.

“Are you having fun?” she asked, concerned. “We can leave - do something else if you want?”

He shook his head, pulling her close even though the song was shifting to Eagle-Eye Cherry’s “Save Tonight”. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

She smiled and separated from him, grabbing his hand and dragging him to where the rest of the Seventh Years had reformed.

Hermione left him to join the Seventh Year girls, who all apparently knew every word to the song and had gathered arm in arm to sing, all smiles. He watched Hannah make eyes at Ron Weasley, who he was relieved to see was completely smitten. 

“Pansy?” Draco mumbled to himself, noticing the girl come up and scoot between Hermione and Lavender, appearing perfectly at home with the rest of the girls.

“Yeah, I forgot she was a girl too,” Theo remarked, scratching his head dumbly.

Draco frowned at his friend and the way he was eyeing their  _ other _ best friend. He felt like an idiot for never noticing it before.

“You like... Pansy?” he asked.

Theo scoffed. “What? No. I mean, she’s my best friend,like you are. No. Of course not-”

“Stop — this is — embarrassing for me to listen to.” Draco covered his eyes, scooting over to where Neville was standing.

When the song ended and “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden started playing, Hermione finally let them return to their table.

“That was fun,” she remarked, still smiling, as though her mouth was permanently fixed that way. 

“You looked like you were having fun,” Draco squeezed her hand, grabbing the new cup of punch that appeared. 

Supposedly once upon a time, they had a punch bowl, but after a group of troublemakers in the 70s made it their life’s mission to spike the punch, they had found a magical solution to the problem. Of course, students still found a way to consume alcohol, but at least this way the younger students weren’t so impacted.

“Holy shit! Are Theo and Pansy dancing... to Savage Garden?” Hermione gaped, wide eyed. Draco laughed at her facial expression, scooting his chair closer to her.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, watching Hermione watch the dance floor. “I didn’t realize it until tonight — when I saw Theo looking at her.”

“I guess it makes sense,” she said, but he could tell by the confusion in her eyes she was still trying to reconcile what she was seeing. Though to be fair, it wasn’t quite clear if the confusion was them together or their willingness to dance to Savage Garden.

The night continued, with Neville singing every word of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” and another all girl sing-along to Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn”. 

It was nearing the end of the night when Flitwick played Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss A Thing.” Hermione once again dragged him on to the dance floor, but this time he didn’t mind.

“I think of you when I hear this song,” she told him.

“Oh, really?” he asked.

“Hmm - it’s about a guy just staring at a girl.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

“Well, I think he has a point,” Draco said cheekily, listening to the lyrics.

> _ Don't want to close my eyes _
> 
> _ I don't want to fall asleep _
> 
> _ Cause I'd miss you, babe _
> 
> _ And I don't want to miss a thing _

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but she had that familiar look of nostalgia and longing.

He wished he could bottle the moment, not necessarily for the song but for the way she looked at him. All of the “I love yous” or other admissions in the world couldn’t compare to the way he felt when her eyes bored into his.

“I love you,” he told her anyways, kissing her roughly. She responded right away, fisting her hands in his shirt, letting the music wash over them.

They were completely oblivious to the world around them, just standing in the middle of the dance floor, lips pressed and tongues dancing together. 

The music came to an abrupt stop and Draco loosened his hold on Hermione, turning to his left and paling at the sight before him.

“Father?” He felt Hermione pull away from him but he gripped her hand, desperately needing her support. She squeezed it back.

“Draco,” his father huffed, approaching them. He managed to act as if it was perfectly within his rights to be there.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, keeping his grip on Hermione.

“I was having dinner with Huxby Parkinson tonight. He told me the most - horrifying thing. That you were planning to play music after Hogwarts and ignore your familial obligations,” he spat out, shuddering at the thought.

Draco was dumbfounded. “I told you this.”

“Your childish letters? Your threats of galloping off into the sunset with this... Muggleborn?” He eyed Hermione up and down with a look of clear disdain.

Draco laughed, even though it was inappropriate. “So you just - thought I was joking? Even though I kept sending them?” It actually made sense — that his father thought this was his last piece of teenage rebellion — only taking it seriously when it was mentioned by someone else. Only then did it actually have an impact on Lucius Malfoy himself.

“You know your responsibility, Draco. You can’t just abdicate. This is your life,” Lucius lectured, his tone flat. Draco noticed the other Seventh Years surrounding them, Theo and Pansy in particular flanking Hermione and Draco. He felt oddly comforted by their presence, even if he knew there was nothing anyone could do. 

“That isn’t my life, father.  _ This _ .” He turned his head to Hermione, giving her a brief smile before returning his focus to his father. “This is my life. Music is what I want to do. And I want to do it with Hermione — who, by the way, is so much more than her blood. Which you would know if you bothered to respond to any of my letters or perhaps  _ talk _ about it at all.”

“Music?” Lucius rolled his eyes, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “Wake up, child. Music is a fantasy. It’s nothing more than a childhood hobby. What will you do, hmm? When you give up everything? Will you play on the streets of London for loose change?”

Draco felt his eyes watering but Hermione’s steady grip on his hand kept him lucid. “I don’t care. Whatever it will be, I’ll be happy. And this is  _ my _ life; that is what I want.”

Lucius was seething, his face growing progressively redder to where Draco was concerned he’d pop like an overripe tomato. “I will make you miserable if you do this. My conglomerate has many relationships in the music industry. Do you think anyone would be willing to work with you? The moment I say the word, you will be nobody. Nothing! Then what will you have?”

“Freedom,” Draco told the man head on, his eyes never wavering.

There was a silence throughout the hall, all eyes on Draco and his father’s confrontation. 

“You will regret this, Draco,” Lucius threatened. Draco swallowed, feeling his stomach drop at the words.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione started from beside him. Draco turned to give her a look, to suggest she back off but she just squeezed his hand, her eyes firmly on his father, “Your son doesn’t just love music — he’s good. He has a real talent.”

Lucius gave a harsh laugh. “You think that’s enough, girl?”

She didn’t waver. “I think it’s a start. And for the record, I would never let Draco starve on the streets. Unlike you, my father will support me in my endeavors - including who I choose to love. So don’t worry Mr. Malfoy. Draco will be just fine without you.”

Flitwick started playing Blind Melon’s “Change”, which she assumed was a planned final song of the night but seemed particularly poignant in that moment.

“Do you have anything else to say, Draco?” Lucius asked, his head held high and nose raised.

“No, Father.” Draco pushed his chest up, meeting his gaze head on.

They watched the man walk off and Draco felt lighter — as though he were finally free.

“Did you mean it?” he asked Hermione.

She smiled. “Of course, Draco. You’re stuck with me.”

He kissed her once more, listening to the words of the song as they faded to the background:

> _ And oh as I fade away _
> 
> _ They'll all look at me and they'll say _
> 
> _ Hey look at him and where he is these days _
> 
> _ When life is hard, you have to change _
> 
> _ When life is hard, you have to change _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for the alpha/beta assistance!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** The movie "Armageddon" and thus the song "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith didn't technically come out until August, 1998. But to me it just seemed the perfect back drop of Hermione/Draco having a moment and then an epic argument with Lucius that I couldn't help myself. Besides, I'm sure the Wizarding world has sweet connections and got a copy early.
> 
> As always, any comments, reviews, gifs and emotions are much appreciated. I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever 90s themed covers for this.
> 
> Only one chapter to go 🥺


	10. Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the last chapter. I'm not crying, you're crying...
> 
> Please find the chapter 10 playlist on spotify[here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3MI3vki3sa92Zddw5vTnr4?si=6lsrcpH4QAyn9tMly7iRVQ) or on my [Tumblr](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/). Playlist listening is highly recommended for peak end of year nostalgia.

_ June 8, 1998 _

The night before graduation, the Seventh Years were all together at a campfire beside the Black Lake. A boombox sat between Theo and Neville, currently playing Fatboy Slim’s “The Rockafeller Skank”. Hermione felt warm, both from Firewhiskey and the unusually hot June day. Her classmates were telling stories - waxing nostalgic on their seven years together.

“Do you remember when we first saw Theo in First Year?” Pansy shouted to Draco, squeezing Theo’s hand and giving him an apologetic look.

Draco burst out laughing. “You mean when he came in with a New Kids on the Block CD?”

Hermione couldn’t help laughing, and even Theo’s lip quirked up slightly, though his eyes were narrowed at Pansy. The girl gave him a small pout and Theo rolled his eyes, kissing the witch. 

Hermione felt so unbelievably comfortable, sitting between Draco’s legs with his arms wrapped around her. It still amazed her - how much had changed in such a short time. She had started the year feeling completely separate from these people, and now she couldn’t imagine life without them.

“We should do this every year!” Hermione shouted at one point. She felt Draco chuckle in her ear and gave him a shoulder punch in response. “I mean it - we should come back or meet somewhere. Drink and talk - no matter what.”

Dean Thomas rolled his eyes. “Everyone says that - it never happens.”

“I’ll put it in my planner - then it  _ must _ happen,” Hermione insisted, a look of determination marking her face. There were some shouts of agreement - a general consensus that no one wanted this to be the last time they were all together.

As comfortable and happy as she was in that moment, her thoughts kept wandering to  _ tomorrow _ \- or more specifically, what life would be like after graduation.

Ever since his blow up with his father at the Formal, Draco had been oddly calm about the future, a notable divergence from his previous angst. He insisted that whatever happened next would be of his own making. She found herself envious of his clarity and peace of mind.

Hermione still didn’t know what she wanted to do. A part of her wanted to join Draco on his road trip to see bands and learn about music. But she wondered if it was too much for their relatively new relationship. And further, there was still a small part of her that scoffed at behaving in a way that she would have once considered to be irresponsible. 

But try as she might, and McGonagall could attest to countless meetings and rants, she couldn’t find a career that interested her. After Justin’s overdose and her own mother’s death, she felt an obligation to make the most of her life. She didn’t want to waste the time she had left in a career she didn’t enjoy.

“Are you alright?” Draco whispered in her ear and she realized she must have been silent for quite some time.

She nodded. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”

He hummed in her ear, brushing his nose against her neck. She leaned into him, savoring the feel of his chest against her back and looking up into the clear night sky.

“So, Hermione,” Harry shouted from across the way. “What’s your favorite Hogwarts memory?” 

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words followed. There was just - so much. She remembered going with Harry to Hogsmeade for the first time in third year, and the time Neville tried to teach her how to rap. She even recalled with fondness playing video games with Ron while stoned - the thrill of trying something new.

But one moment came to mind - and she gave Draco a quick smirk before turning back to her best friend. “Winning Capture the Flag this year.” 

The Gryffindors gave out a loud cheer, some hailing Hermione for her contributions to their victory. Draco pinched her hip lightly, but his soft chuckle in her ear betrayed his amusement.

“Wonderwall” came on the boombox and conversation came to a halt as everyone sang aloud. Even Draco and Theo, rolling their eyes with disdain for Oasis, joined in.

Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Daphne, Tracey, Millicent and Susan sat together, tearing up as they sang. Hermione watched the girls fondly, knowing if she wanted she could be included amongst them. Before coming to Hogwarts - she had been alone. But now - as she felt the weight of Draco behind her and watched Harry dramatically serenade Ron and Neville, she felt a part of something.

_ And all the roads that lead you there are winding _

_ And all the lights that light the way are blinding _

_ There are many things that I _

_ Would like to say to you but I don't know how _

_ I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me _

_ And after all, you're my wonderwall _

“I love you,” she whispered to Draco, her voice cracking slightly. She felt her eyes watering, a familiar lump in her throat.

He frowned. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded. “But everything is going to be different.”

“What did you tell me when I lamented all of our endings?” He gave her hands a quick squeeze. “After all the lasts we get new firsts.”

Her eyes went wide and she smiled. “You remember that?”

He nodded sheepishly. “You said it - and it meant something. It helped me.” He gave her that look, the one that made her feel like she was the only girl in the world. The one that made her think that she  _ could _ follow him on his musical tour and everything would be okay.

“I  _ was _ quite wise,” she mumbled. 

“Alright,” Ernie called from their right, his face drawn. “I uh - if it’s alright with you all - wanted to take a moment to remember Justin.”

The Seventh Years all nodded, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

“He would have loved this - all of us together. He never understood house division or any of it - he just wanted us all to be happy and enjoy our time together.” Ernie swallowed and pulled something out of his pocket. “So - in honor of Jusin - I have a joint for us all to share!”

About half the group lifted their arms in celebration and the others rolled their eyes at his antics. The joint was passed around and everyone told their favorite Justin stories.

“You know - he actually didn’t take his OWLS,” Ernie told them all.

“That’s impossible! He couldn’t take NEWT classes if he didn’t get his OWLS!” Hermione pointed out.

Ernie raised his eyebrows at her. “Apparently, he sweet talked the proctor into giving him an S in a few choice subjects.”

“What?” Ron shouted, dumbfounded. “That was an option?!”

Everyone laughed, watching the red head mumble to himself nonsensically. Hannah eventually pressed her lips to his, shutting him up with a kiss.

A sort of peaceful silence fell over the group. Draco nudged Hermione off his lap and grabbed his guitar, playing the familiar melody of “Good Riddance”:

_ Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road _

_ Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go _

_ So make the best of this test and don't ask why _

_ It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time _

Everyone was quiet as Draco sang; some swaying left to right and others sitting thoughtfully. Hermione just watched Draco, the way his brows furrowed at times, and just how much care and focus he put into the song.

She wondered what her mother would think - of her and this boy, of all she’d been through this year. For once though, the thought didn’t fill her with melancholy. She felt a serene smile form on her lips as she closed her eyes, imagining her mother there with her.  _ Hey mum - did you see me? What did you think? Pretty good, right? _

_ It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right _

_ I hope you had the time of your life _

_ It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right _

_ I hope you had the time of your life _

* * *

_June 9, 1998_

Draco was twitching nervously in the front row, somewhat uncomfortable in his green graduation robes, his fingers tapping the guitar to his right. The Hogwarts grounds had been charmed for the Seventh Years’ graduation ceremony - a light cooling spell breezing over them to dull the pervasive heat. 

“You’re going to do great,” Hermione reassured him from his left, her fingers entwining with his.

“I’ve never performed in public,” he pointed out.

“You’ve played for the Seventh Years and you’ve played for me. There’s a reason you were asked to do this - you’re a real talent, Draco Malfoy.” Her eyes shone into his, her burgundy robes clashing with his green ones. 

The shuffling of students, parents and professors started to slow. In spite of his better judgement, he turned around, taking in the throngs of family members and paling at the sight of one in particular.

“He’s here,” Draco mumbled to Hermione. 

She turned briefly to confirm. “It’s going to be fine.”

“What if he makes a scene? Just - storms out of here?” Draco frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your father wouldn’t do that!” Hermione tried to argue.

“Hermione,” he deadpanned, “he literally shut down our Formal. I will never again underestimate the lengths Lucius Malfoy will go through to embarrass me.”

“Well.” She squeezed his hand and raised her chin. “If he does anything, I’ll silence him with a  _ Muffliato _ . Okay?”

He smiled and kissed her. “What would I do without you?”

She shrugged and the cacophony started to quiet as Professor Dumbledore took to the makeshift podium set against the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest.

Draco was sure their Headmaster said some wise things, probably profound ones as well, but he was too busy trying to ignore the nausea that had overcome him. Hermione was giving him worried glances, which he studiously ignored in favor of focusing on  _ not _ throwing up.

“The Seventh Years have asked if Draco Malfoy could play a song to commemorate their Graduation. Mr. Malfoy?” Dumbledore nodded at him. Draco swallowed and took to the podium with his Gibson, his hand feeling oddly cold without Hermione’s clasped within it.

“This is for my fellow Seventh Years,” he said into the mic, feeling rather stupid before taking a seat on the conjured stool and playing Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Teach Your Children”.

_ You who are on the road _

_ Must have a code that you can live by _

_ And so become yourself _

_ Because the past is just a good-bye. _

Once he started playing, the pit in his stomach loosened. He kept his gaze on Hermione though, afraid to let his eyes wander. He knew if he saw his father, he’d choke, so instead he focused on Hermione’s brilliant smile and the way her eyes watered as she watched him.

_ Teach your children well, _

_ Their father's hell did slowly go by, _

_ And feed them on your dreams _

_ The one they pick’s, the one you'll know by. _

_ Don't you ever ask them why,  _

_ if they told you, you will cry, _

_ So just look at them and sigh _

_ And know they love you. _

He’d never been sure about his music until  _ her _ . Before this year, there had been that nagging doubt that his love of music and playing the guitar wasn’t anything more than teenage rebellion. But when she watched him play and told him how his playing made her feel - he knew. That his music actually mattered. That what he  _ did _ mattered.

_ Don't you ever ask them why,  _

_ if they told you, you will cry, _

_ So just look at them and sigh  _ _  
_ _ and know they love you. _

Applause broke out in the crowd as he strummed the final note. He looked past Hermione, watching his fellow Seventh Years all stand in solidarity, wooting and shouting obscenities that made their parents wince in the background. He chanced a look at his father, catching the man lightly clapping his hands from his seat with a pensive look on his face.

As the cheers died down, Draco looked to Dumbledore who gave him a reassuring nod, before speaking once more into the microphone.

“I - uh - I asked for the opportunity to introduce our class’s Top Witch, Hermione Granger.” He looked at her and saw her eyes bulge in surprise, not expecting Draco to be the one to do this.

“Hermione has been at the top of our class since First Year - we’ve always teased her for how hard she worked - how seriously she took her studies. But more than that, she’s always been there for the rest of us - sometimes a bit  _ too _ much. NEWTS study guides - anyone?” He sent her an apologetic smile but the rest of the Seventh Years laughed. There were some shouts of “Urkel’ but they were immediately silenced by a glare from Hermione.

“We were talking altogether last night about our favorite memories from Hogwarts, and rather than answer I did what I typically do - play the guitar.” He swallowed, allowing the soft laughter from the crowd to wash over him. “But it’s an easy question to answer. My favorite memory from Hogwarts was getting to know Hermione Granger.”

“I’m lucky to have grown so close to her this year. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” He looked down and caught her mouthing something that looked like  _ I love you _ , her eyes once more watering. “So, with that, it’s my pleasure to introduce the Top Witch of our year, Hermione Granger!”

When they passed each other, she pulled him to her and kissed him senselessly. There were a few catcalls but Draco didn’t particularly care, his focus solely on the witch and her lips crushing into his. Finally, a throat clearing from McGonagall got Hermione’s attention, and her face went bright red as she took to the stage.

Draco took his seat, feeling far more relaxed.

“That wasn’t fair,” Hermione started, wiping her eyes, “I’m never going to be able to get through this.” Draco chuckled along with the crowd, watching her right herself and shuffle some Muggle index cards.

“When I was told seven years ago I was a witch, I had no idea what that meant. Sure - I knew there would be  _ magic _ and what not - but I had no idea what it would truly  _ mean _ .” She looked over the crowd, biting at the inside of her cheek. When her eyes landed on him, Draco gave her a reassuring nod, warming when her smile widened in response.

“It’s so much more than that, though. Sure - we’ve learned spells and potions. But it was the community that blew me away. I didn’t have friends as a child. But my first friend was Harry Potter, and he didn’t care that I was awkward or an “Urkel” as they would later call me.” She turned to glare at the few chuckles before continuing.

“I was welcomed. And that meant something.”

“Many of you know that I lost my mother last summer.” She paused, looking seriously at her notes before returning her focus to the crowd. “When I started this year, I was so lost. But this Seventh Year class - they reminded me time and time again that I wasn’t alone.”

“We’re leaving Hogwarts - graduating so to speak, but it’s not the end. We’ve developed something here - something that  _ matters _ . Something more than spells and charms. We’ve created a bond that will take us through the hard times that are surely to come. And for that, I am so immensely grateful.” She smiled more broadly. 

“So, to my fellow graduates, I know you will all go on to do amazing things. But if you’re ever scared or confused, know that you’re not alone. And I was serious last night - we will all meet again. Thank you.” She gave a slight bow and waved, retaking her seat next to Draco.

“That was beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as McGonagall took the stage, beginning the ceremony to present the graduates.

The commencement went by in a blur, the dulcet tones of “Time After Time” playing in the backdrop. Once all of the graduates had been recognized, McGonagall retook the stage with a somber expression.

“We have one student who wasn’t able to be here today. But the Seventh Years asked we recognize him. Justin Finch-Fletchey made an impact on everyone he met and was taken from us too soon. While he may not have formally graduated, he’ll always be remembered.” She finished and the crowd was silent for a moment, remembering the Hufflepuff.

“Thank you all. And congratulations and good luck!” McGonagall smiled. Cheers and shouts erupted and the orderly ceremony devolved into hugs, kisses and backslaps.

Draco and Hermione managed to push their way to the rest of the Seventh Years.

“We did it motherfucker!” Theo shouted, pulling Draco into a bone crushing hug.

“You had doubts?” Draco asked.

Theo shrugged. “Moments here and there.” He let go of Draco, turning to Hermione. “I guess you’re not terrible.” He told the witch.

Hermione shrugged. “You’re alright.” She smiled and forced Theo into a hug. 

Pansy came next, in a similar state of euphoria. She had tears in her eyes when she insisted to Hermione they would be great friends, and telling Draco that he had better not fuck up too much after school.

It was endless, Harry, then Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors bombarded them. There were hugs and handshakes, tears and punches. Hermione stayed next to him, her hand gripping his own, as though afraid that in the melee he would somehow lose her.

“Draco.” He paled at the voice, recognizing the flat monotone of his father. Hermione gave him a questioning look and he reluctantly let go of her hand, leaving her with their classmates to address the man in question.

“Father.” He attempted to keep his tone neutral, aloof.

“I-” Lucius’s expression of disinterest faltered momentarily. “You’re quite good at guitar.”

Draco felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen in disbelief. He wasn’t sure what to say - feeling as though this was one of those moments where words mattered.

Lucius continued, “Your mother loved music. She - had the most beautiful singing voice. That’s where you get it from, you know.” His stoic father sniffled, attempting to keep tears at bay.

“I remember,” Draco said softly.

“If this is what you must do - then you have my support.” Lucius looked somehow both reluctant and sure simultaneously.

Draco continued to gape. “Are you saying…?” 

Lucius gave a tight nod. “We’ll find a way to make it all work.”

Draco broke out into a grin, embracing his father. After a tense moment, Lucius returned the hug, wrapping his arms around his son, his eyes shut tight. Draco caught Hermione watching them, a serene look on her face. He mouthed an  _ I Love You _ to her, feeling the warmth of knowing they would cross the precipice together.

* * *

“Hermione.” She turned to the voice, seeing her father waving at her from the back of the crowd. She took one final look in Draco’s direction before heading over.

“Dad,” she smiled, giving him a hug.

“This place is something,” he commented, giving an appreciative look towards the castle.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” She grabbed her father’s hand and dragged him to the other side of the grounds. As they walked, they caught up - he gave her an update on his dental practice while she talked about taking her NEWTS. But when they finally reached the Black Lake, sitting under the hot sun, the conversation turned more serious.

“So that was the boy,” he stated, his tone giving away nothing.

Hermione swallowed. “Yes - he’s - I can’t explain it. But I love him.”

Her father watched her carefully and nodded once. “I can tell,” he told her softly.

She felt herself relax. “It’s - it’s something I never imagined if I’m being honest. It just sort of - snuck up on me.”

“I know what you mean,” he told her sadly. She recalled witnessing moments between her parents - when she was supposed to be asleep and they’d be flirting on the couch or when they kissed in public and she’d act embarrassed.

“I think she’d like him,” Hermione responded eventually, a small smile on her face.

Her father laughed. “Oh, I’m sure she would have.” 

“So, why do you seem so - unsure?” he asked.

Hermione exhaled. “It’s about what comes next.”

“You still haven’t decided?” He frowned. “I thought you were talking about taking time off?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know - I worry I’m only doing it to spend time with Draco. Or that it will look bad if I take a year off, or...”

There was a long pause before her dad finally responded, “There’s nothing wrong with doing something because you  _ want _ to spend time with someone. You have accomplished so much in your 18 years, Hermione. Sometimes, you can be too practical. If you want to travel the world, be with a person who matters - well, that’s valuable and worthwhile.

“We only have so long to live - the most important thing to me is that you’re happy.”

She felt her heart in her throat. “What?” Her father was practical - a dentist for goodness sakes. 

He laughed. “What did you expect me to say?”

Hermione shrugged. “Honestly? I figured you’d tell me it was stupid to chase after a boy and I needed to think about my future and my career.”

“Is that what you want me to say?” He raised his eyebrows.

She considered the question - wondering if perhaps a part of her had been hoping for some sort of negative reaction - that it would push her one way or another. “No,” she answered eventually. “Thank you, Dad.”

“Of course.”

* * *

The Great Hall had been tweaked for the graduation feast - the typical house tables replaced with rounds. Flitwick was manning the hall’s stereo, currently playing James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain”.

Hermione, Draco and their fathers joined Harry and his entourage, making for a sometimes awkward and at other times entertaining dinner. Lucius Malfoy did  _ try _ his best to behave, though sometimes his facial expressions were perhaps too - expressive. Regardless, the night progressed more or less amicably, with the Seventh Years jumping from table to table, the excitement of graduating still palpable. 

“Draco - you’re very talented,” Lily Potter said after an awkward pause, smiling at the blonde.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Er, thanks Mrs. Potter.”

“So, what are you gonna do next, kid?” Sirius asked, with a certain glint in his eye. Hermione was quite excited to meet Sirius Black - who featured prominently in both Draco and Harry’s stories from home. Somehow, he was even more - colorful in person than the tales suggested.

Hermione watched the byplay curiously. Lucius clammed up from Draco’s left, but kept his mouth shut.

“I’m going to travel - hopefully pick up music gigs here and there. Just - learn more and figure it out from there,” Draco answered. Sirius had a huge grin and gave a sort of ‘attaboy’ in response.

“How about you?” James Potter turned to her now and Hermione felt her cheeks go red.

She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Draco alone since her conversation with her father by the Black Lake. She gave him a nervous smile before facing the Potters, her hand gripping Draco’s beneath the table.

“I think I’m going to take a gap year,” she said, feeling Draco’s surprise from beside her.

“Really?” Harry asked with an amused smirk.

She faced Draco once more, somewhat afraid of what would be in his eyes. After all, it was one thing to  _ talk _ about travelling the world together - but to actually do it? But there was no trepidation in his expression - just a wide grin and a look of fondness in his eyes.

“I don’t know precisely what I want to do yet,” she explained to Harry before turning to face Draco. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to join you.”

“You mean it?” he asked quickly.

“Yes.” She smiled.

He kissed her, ignoring their fathers and Harry and the fact there were likely small children running around. She felt the last of her fears disappear as his hands clenched her own, pulling her towards him.

* * *

_ June 30, 1998 _

“Are you  _ sure _ we have everything?” Hermione asked once more, sifting through her illegally spelled, never ending bag, and triple checking that they had everything they needed.

They were going on the road - indefinitely. They needed clothes, books, toothpaste, aspirin, and of course, Draco’s entire music collection.

“We’re not going to Siberia, Granger. It’s okay if we forget something.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against his motorcycle with his leather jacket strewn over his shoulder. His hair was was cut to just below his ears and his blonde locks were gently swaying in the breeze,

The sight made her pause, and any reprimand was caught in her throat.

He grabbed her hands, pulling her to him. “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, embracing her.

She shook her head. “No - I just like to be prepared is all.” 

“Well, we have each other. I think we’re ready.” He had that look of calm - a self-assurance that eased her angst. She smiled, nodding her agreement. Because she knew they could handle it.

She followed him onto the bike, pressing herself behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. He wandlessly started the music, and the familiar tune of “1979” filled the space between them. 

She smiled at the familiar sounds, recalling a conversation from nearly a year ago. She was so scared of crossing that threshold - of being on the precipice. And as much as she felt nostalgia for simpler times, she was ready to jump. With him, that is.

He turned and kissed her. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

They sped through the streets of London, the cool air whipping against their faces. Watching the sun set in the distance, Hermione realized that their lives were just getting started.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for going on this ride of nostalgia with me! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it...
> 
> A final massive thanks to my amazing alpha, [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA), who was so critical to making this story what it was. And a thank you to my beta, [astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=astrangefan) for everything.
> 
> I have a couple of plot bunnies related to this story in the back of my mind: a series of one shots taking Dramione and the rest of their graduating class through the 2000s, and a 'Dazed and Confused' style Marauders fic. So keep an eye out for one of those...
> 
> **Thank you all again!** As always, I appreciate all comments, reviews, GIFS, emotions. It's been so much fun to watch you all wax nostalgic on the 90s!
> 
> You can find my posting questionably clever banners and crack over on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all feedback! 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr [@canttouchthis87](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/canttouchthis87).


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